Forever Is Not Enough
by onehellofashot
Summary: Damon Salvatore and Elena Gilbert were never meant to be, or so it seemed. Still, through heartbreak, betrayal, and even death, they always found one another. Their story both began and ended in Mystic Falls, amidst a war and fields of unending tobacco. It has little to do with happiness, but who said love is supposed to make you happy? AH/AU. vamp!DELENA. 1864-2009.
1. The Visitor

**Part One**

**Chapter One**

**The Visitor**

_Mystic Falls, Virginia_

_1864_

In the crisp autumn months of 1864, the golden leaves falling from the trees seemed to be the only thing stirring in Mystic Falls, a quiet township to the west of Richmond. There, the Earth seemed to make an effort to prolong the changes that were just on the horizon, with one day enveloping the children in a blanket of warmth and the next biting them with the cold. A sense of foreboding had grown in the bellies of weary mothers and wives who wrote letters to their loved ones in the war. Horses whinnied in their pens and dogs howled at the moon. Infants cried late into the night. The heart of the Earth beat through the soil, making even the strongest man wary of the future.

Days passed with cautious eyes peaking out from covered windows when, finally, the change came on the coldest day of the year. Children wiped their little red noses across the thick fabric of their sleeves while their fathers stayed in for the day, sitting with their wives by the hearth. Though it was midday, the sun could not be seen in the overcast skies - a dreary background compared to the stylish carriage that lazily made its way into town.

The driver kept his eyes ahead of him, ignoring his surroundings as he passed. Even as a group of children ran alongside the carriage, shouting and giggling excitedly, he gave no indication that he noticed. From the window behind him, a gold fan hid the face of the visitor, her dark eyes squinting from behind it. She raised her hand in a small wave just as the stagecoach became too fast for the children to keep up.

The town, though small in community, was quite spread out. Most of what came through the small carriage window was the sight of farmland. Miles passed before they finally approached the town square. It was an eerie sight; all the doors were closed and no light or warmth came from inside the buildings. The occasional passerby kept their head down. The cold wind was the only sound to be heard, accompanied by the occasional ring of a bell.

Just as the sun began to set, the woman found herself riding up a wobbly dirt road that led directly to a large estate. The massive trees that lined the road had already lost most of their foliage to the coming winter, giving them a haunted appearance. The main house of the Gilbert Estate sat square and tall at the end of the tunnel, a beacon of light. Red brick peaked out from behind the large and numerous windows, and thick smoke billowed from both of the chimneys. On either side of the stagecoach, hundreds of rows of tobacco ran out of eye's reach.

From the distance, hooves could be heard beating at the ground. A rider was coming. He gave his greeting to the near-comatose driver, to which the woman abruptly shoved her arm out of the carriage to receive the rider's welcome.

By the time the three reached the house, the entire household and its staff had made their way to the front porch to welcome the visitor. It was a small group of people, the woman noticed, for it was not possible for so few people to work the land she had just seen. Those who did appear to work outdoors and in the stables stood off to the side. Slightly larger in number were those who worked in the house, all of whom stood to the back. At the center stood Johnathan Gilbert, his niece Elena, and his nephew Jeremiah - the last living descendants of the Gilbert line.

Johnathan was a small man, only months away from shrinking beneath Jeremy's impressive stature, it seemed. Though once he might have been handsome, the difficulties of life showed on his pale face. Even his wheat-colored hair seemed limp and lackluster.

He had only been a resident in Mystic Falls for a little over a year, arriving shortly after his wife, Isobel, had been struck down by a wandering bullet from a Union soldier's gun at Vicksburg. He came at the request of his brother - Elena and Jeremiah's father - Grayson Gilbert, when news came that his wife was dying of consumption. Grieving and alone, Johnathan arrived at the Gilbert Residence directly, and within the month, Miranda Gilbert was dead.

Grayson sat by the shell of his wife for days, even as the town united in mourning. His brother only persuaded him to move when the stench became too odious for anyone to bear.

From then on, Grayson's already deteriorating mental state quickly declined into insanity. He would lock himself away in his study for days, studying old books and journals on the supernatural. The church was furious upon learning of this, and the Reverend himself publicly declared that it was blasphemy. Yet no amount of public scorn or shame could tear Grayson away, for he was sure that his family was cursed and his wife's life was taken by a spirit. When neighbors came to offer their condolences for her untimely death, he would very calmly state that she had not simply died. "My wife was taken by the devil," he would say, "and I will face the him in hell if that is what it takes to save her soul."

Another month passed before he was found hanging in his study. No one expected that of him. He was one of the few rational voices among the founding families, and known for his level head. Everyone always thought his incoherent babbling was just a part of his grief.

Left behind were just his books, his home, and his children. Until Jeremiah was of appropriate age to oversee the household, Johnathan agreed to stay and act as a regent of sorts. It was no coincidence that he simply had no other place to go.

Following these strange and tragic happenings, a letter arrived, addressed to the dead Miranda Gilbert from her sister. John replied, rather awkwardly, that she would not be able to reply. Apologies followed for not informing her, but it became apparent that nobody knew Miranda had a sister, not even her own children.

A series of correspondence passed between the two before it was finally decided that she would make the journey from Atlanta posthaste. An odd number of circumstances, John thought as he found himself standing between two children whom he still felt were strangers, that led to him meeting this woman.

She gracefully exited the carriage with help from her driver, her solemn eyes looking up to the people in front of her as though she had known them from long ago.

"Katherine, I presume?" Johnathan asked politely.

She broke into a smile upon hearing her name. "I am so pleased to finally meet you all," and then solemnly, "though I am sorry it has not happened sooner. You must be Johnathan Gilbert."

"Call me John."

He stepped forward, taking her hand and bringing it up to his lips before turning to face the children. "It pleases me to introduce you to your nephew, Jeremiah. We call him Jeremy."

The boy was broad and handsome for a boy his age, taking after his mother's dark eyes and brown hair. He did as his uncle did, and kissed her hand before offering a reserved smile.

"And your niece, Elena."

She stepped out from behind her brother, hesitant to approach the woman. She was taken by the familiarity of her aunts face. Though she looked similar to Miranda, Katherine more closely resembled Elena. They both shared the same oval-shaped face and olive skin, but it was their almond-shaped eyes that truly mirrored one another. The biggest difference, it seemed, was that Katherine carried herself more confidently then Elena had ever seen anyone walk. She could feel her shoulders straighten just at the sight of her. Never taking their eyes off of one another, they curtsied slowly.

Elena startled when Katherine stepped forward suddenly, gently grabbing her by the chin to assess her face further. "Now that is the face of a-," and she faltered for just a moment as though she had forgotten the word. "Pierce," she said finally.

* * *

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi! Thanks for reading. This is my first TVD story and hopefully not my last. Please review, if you like. I won't pretend I don't love reading them. I'm horrible about replying, however, so if you have any serious questions, don't hesitate to message me. _

_Please note that there are a number of trigger warnings in this story. Proceed at your own risk._


	2. Gifts

**Chapter Two**

**Gifts**

_Mystic Falls, Virginia_

_1864_

The interior of the house was craftily designed, though not opulent. The polished rosewood floors gleamed in the light from crackling fireplaces, and the walls were a deep blue. "It was all my mother's design," Elena said as she guided Katherine down the hall. "All of the furniture was hand-crafted here in Mystic Falls." Katherine only nodded, not terribly impressed. "You will stay in Grandmother's old room," Elena went on.

"She has passed, then?"

Elena paused, her hand closed around the doorknob and a grimace on her face. "Two summers past," she murmured, "she fell from her horse and lost consciousness. Doctor Fell called it 'apoplexy,'"

"You Gilberts have bad luck in your blood."

Elena nodded. "Grandfather Gilbert died when Papa was still a child. People say he snored so loud that the neighbors threatened to burn his house to the ground. Some say that one night, a rat crawled into his wide-open mouth and ate his insides."

Katherine's eyes widened, as did Elena's at the realization of her faux pas. "Excuse me," she blushed. "I'm being morbid. That was only a rumor. Please, let us not speak of death any longer."

The room was drenched in a grotesque peach color, to Katherine's horror. Yellowed lace hung in front of the windows and had been draped over the bed. Frames of all shapes and sizes covered an entire wall, the same cat scowling down from all of them. "That is Charlie," Elena explained. "The only living thing on this planet that Grandmother was ever kind to. You can take them down, if you wish."

"Perhaps."

They were silent for a moment, both looking awkwardly around the room rather than each other. "Did you ever have any pets?" Elena finally blurted.

"I prefer people."

"I always wanted a puppy, but father was very against it."

Katherine went to draw the curtains shut, silently vowing to never open them again so long as the room remained in such a heinous state.

"He was always against me doing anything, really," Elena continued. "I wanted to study in France when I was younger, but he didn't like the idea of me traveling once the war had started."

"I spent some time in France, you know."

Elena's eyes widened. "You did?"

"Long ago," Katherine sighed. "Trust me, dear, it was not as lovely as you would think."

"What did you do there? Were you in Paris? I hear the countryside is beautiful this time of year. Did you see any countryside?"

Katherine sat on a dusty chair by the mantle, inviting Elena to join her. "I went to stay with a very old friend."

"A friend? Was it a man? Were you in love?"

"_Love_?" Katherine laughed. "Why would you ask that?"

"It could be so romantic."

"I met a man whom I could have loved," Katherine frowned, "but his heart belonged to another."

"That's terrible."

"Not all of us are meant to fall in love, I suppose."

Elena smiled. "I am."

"You are meant to fall in love?"

"I _am_ in love."

"How old are you?"

Though Elena said, "Eighteen," as if there was no truer word spoken, Katherine had trouble believing her. She looked so young and fragile with her hope-filled eyes and sheepish grin. Life had yet to come for her innocence.

"You are young," Katherine said. "Young love never lasts."

* * *

Though breakfast was more extravagant than usual, Katherine's place at the table was empty. John attempted to mask his offense as concern, sending someone to check on her every few hours. Each time, they would return with a shrug and a vague excuse. "She is exhausted from her trip, and would like to sleep in this morning," a handmaid said after breakfast. "She is still settling in," another said near lunch.

Around midday, Katherine's own handmaiden, Emily, appeared in the sitting room. "Miss Katherine asked that we borrow Sarah for a moment," she said

Sarah, a young maid, whose mousy demeanor often let her go unnoticed in the Gilbert house, widened her eyes at such a personal invitation.

"Come along," Emily said impatiently. "She only needs your help dressing."

John scoffed at the idea. "She has not dressed yet?"

Emily smiled apologetically. "It was a very long trip."

"I should have a word with her," he muttered once Emily and Sarah had gone. "The very idea that she would come to _my _home and have her servants order my own around..." He did not finish the thought.

Katherine did not emerge when Sarah did, and the girl was confused when John questioned her. She could not remember why Katherine needed two women to dress her. Nor could she predict when she would come out of her room.

When she finally did appear, the table was set for dinner and John's guests were due to arrive any minute. "I feared I would have to cancel," he said cooly.

"Forgive me, John," she blushed. "I absolutely despise living from a trunk. I wanted to settle in."

He nodded, "I hope my concern for you was not bothersome."

"Of course not," she grinned. "I apologize for not coming to greet you myself."

* * *

The house was quiet except for the sounds of fine china clinking together and footsteps flitting from the kitchen to the dining room. Elena waited next to her brother, jealously gazing at Katherine's dress. The hoops of her skirt were made of lustrous green taffeta. Her waste was slender and taught beneath a matching velvet belt. Her shoulders were bare apart from the string of lace secured around her neck. It was more beauty than Elena had ever seen and she self-consciously tugged at the suffocating fabric around her own neck.

The Sheriff arrived early, toting his wife merrily along with him. The two looked odd next to one another. The sheriff was a tall man, broad in the shoulders and belly. He was red in the face from the walk over, but he smiled all the same. His wife, Elizabeth, was so small she almost looked like a child next to him. Her face was coarse and narrow, unlike a child's. She offered an abrupt "hello" to John when she first entered and never spoke again.

"I heard she is jealous of all the time he spends with one of his deputies," Jeremy whispered to his sister.

Elena tried to hide the scandal from her face. "Where could you have possibly heard that?" she hissed.

"Victoria," he shrugged. "She tells me things."

"You should not gossip," she chided.

He rolled his eyes and stalked off to the dining room.

Elena meant to follow, but stopped when she heard the front door slam. Katherine watched her as she pinched her cheeks and turned nervously toward the mantle.

Giuseppe Salvatore entered first, his two sons trailing behind him. Their land shared the eastern border of the Gilbert's. Grayson had been good friends with Giuseppe long ago, and John continued the friendship by extension.

They were a handsome brood, even Giuseppe, whose face was weathered by age and the death of his wife. His youngest son, Stefan, looked the image of him. They had the same light brown hair, and deep eyes. Even the lines along their forehead, which gave them both a look of perpetual concern, equaled each other in number and depth. However, the eldest Salvatore brother, Damon, looked like a stranger next to them. His jaw was strong and his heavy brows hovered above crystal blue eyes. Even his hair, the color of a raven's feathers, was long and unruly unlike the other's. Katherine watched with vague upset as he subtly slid from his father's shadow and towards the light of the fire, towards Elena. He took her hand, planting a small kiss on the tips of her knuckles, and her cheeks turned red.

* * *

The dining room was alight with candles and laughter. Katherine entertained the table with stories of Europe, and no one seemed to notice Damon and Elena. They sat quietly beside one another. Occasionally, she would brush her elbow up against his arm, providing a divine closeness that brought smiles to their faces. In response, his knee would slide up against hers for a quick moment, and then they would quickly draw away from each other.

As the first course was served, Elena noticed Stefan watching disapprovingly from across the table. One would think he was jealous at first glance. He was only a year older than her, and when they were young, everyone around them predicted that they would marry when they came of age. Neither of them had ever shared that assumption.

It was more likely that he was put off by the unseemly table manners. Elena met his gaze defiantly, relishing the thought of her little rebellion, and his attention drifted back to Katherine, with whom he had been speaking all night.

"How long have you been back in America?" Sheriff Forbes asked Katherine.

"Emily and I had only been in Atlanta for a few days when I first wrote to Johnathan."

"Where did you stay?" Stefan said, looking at her intently. "Do you have family there?"

"Oh, no," she smiled. "We are seldom still in our travels, going from one friend to the next."

"It was good of them to offer you sanctuary," John said.

"Unquestionably," she replied. "None of my travels would have ever been possible without those kind enough to invite me into their homes - like you all." Her eyes landed on each Gilbert individually, a silent thank you hanging in the space between them. "I never would have made myself so scarce had I known…" She set her fork down, abandoning the thought. Everyone hung their head for a moment, and Emily shifted uncomfortably where she stood.

As if sensing the need to change the subject, John turned to the Sheriff. "William, have you any news about the missing girl? What was her name?"

William leaned back in his chair, a grim look on his face. "Annabelle," he said darkly. Her mother runs the apothecary in the square."

"I knew her from church," Elena said. "She was always so kind."

"She is missing?" Katherine asked.

William shook his head. "A few days after her mother reported her missing, a man and his son came across a bloody gown while they were hunting in the woods north of here."

"Ah, but a bloody gown does not indicate that she is dead," John said.

William chuckled darkly, "A bloody gown indicates a bloody body that was once in it."

The ladies at the table sat their forks down upon hearing this and the sheriff cleared his throat, glancing at them all. "But perhaps now is not the best to time to speak of such matters."

John nodded. "You're right. Tell me you know who is responsible, at least."

Katherine motioned for Emily to come pour her another glass of wine, keeping her eyes on the table.

"Not a trace."

"A damn shame," Giuseppe interjected suddenly. "Pardon me, ladies, but this town's virtue has been unsoiled since its creation. Up from the ashes we rose, and the threat of our extinction comes from a man who is too cowardly to even show his face… I cannot even describe the fury it arouses."

"Well said."

"Hear, hear."

Katherine cleared her throat, hoping to distract from the conversation. "I hear you were one of the first settlers in Mystic Falls, Mr. Salvatore."

He smiled proudly. "_The first. _I purchased a plot of land here almost thirty years ago. There was not another person for miles, then."

"You look like you've done well for yourself."

"I've been abundantly blessed."

"Blessed?" William chortled, and he was even redder in the face from too much brandy. "If Richard Lockwood had not bought all of that land from you, you and your boys would be living in a sack by the quarry!"

Giuseppe's mouth was taught as he spoke. "I had no need for that land. I sold it to Mayor Lockwood as a favor."

"Expensive favor," William muttered into his glass.

"Grayson bought some of that land too," John cut in. "This land. Mother nearly keeled over when she found out he had spent his inheritance on a empty plot of land."

"Damned Yanks," William laughed. "Can't stand the idea of a little space and fresh air."

"My brother and I moved to the South long before this war. We're honorary Confederates."

"Like hell you are."

"Southern blood only runs as deep as the Salvatores," Giuseppe boomed, smacking Stefan on the shoulder. Damon focused on his plate. "The Salvatores were one of the first settlers in Jamestown, all the way from the Mother Country. We fought in the first war and my great grandfather fought in 1812. All for the pride of the South."

Everyone at the table seemed to collectively roll their eyes.

After dinner, the Sheriff parted with a final warning to Katherine and Elena. "Be careful," he ordered, "and never go anywhere alone.

Damon pulled Elena to the side as everyone said their goodbyes. "I was happy to see you tonight," he said quietly.

Her cheeks flushed pink. "I wish we had been alone."

He took her hand from her side, kissing it one final time. Katherine watched from afar.

"Damon!" Giuseppe barked, and he obviously had been watching too. Damon took a final second to look at Elena, leaving a small piece of paper in her hand. He left with a parting smirk and a wink before his father grabbed him by the collar and pulled him out the door.

Elena turned her back to look at the paper, which looked as though it had been torn from a book. The back of the page held a hastily drawn picture of a rose, and the words, _A flower for you, though half as beautiful. It shall never die._

She laughed. Days ago, Elena had lamented the idea of presenting a women with flowers. "Tearing them out of the ground is nothing more than a death sentence," she had said.

Katherine came up from behind her, snatching the little square from her fingers. "What have we here?" she mocked.

Elena's eyes widened, unsure of how to approach the still unfamiliar woman. Forcing a playful smile, she reached out towards her, "Dear Katherine, you would stoop to embarrass your loving niece this way?"

Katherine held the paper out of reach. "So that is the boy you are in love with, then?"

"Which one?" Elena said nervously.

"You know which one."

Elena hung her head. "Perhaps."

Without so much as a glance, Katherine slipped the little square of paper back into Elena's hand. "Just be careful. Boys like that will only give you their attention to amuse themselves."

Elena frowned, wanting to deny it, but knew there was no use. It seemed adults were always trying to ward her away from men, while simultaneously pushing her towards marriage.

"I apologize," Katherine sighed. "I have had poor luck with men. I only want to protect you, for your mother's sake. Would you fetch your brother and bring him to my room? I would like to speak with you both, privately."

Curious, Elena followed her orders without question, quickly retrieving Jeremy from his room. When the two arrived there, Katherine was sitting at her vanity. Emily stood behind her, already brushing Katherine's long curls in the light of candles that covered every open surface. She left without any orders upon their arrival, leaving only Katherine, Elena, and Jeremy to speak.

Once the door was quietly shut, Katherine stood and took a small box from her dresser. "I needed to speak with you without your uncle present," she started. "This does not concern him, and I hope you both will keep this meeting secret." The two nodded before she continued, and they watched as she opened the little box slowly. Inside, two silver rings sat in a bed of black velvet. They gleamed in golden light of the candles. Katherine placed one in each of their hands silently, and they both felt a jolt run up their spines as it slid down their fingers.

"These rings have been in our family for centuries. We are Petrova," Katherine said, and her tongue curled around the name as if she was speaking another language. "The Petrovas are a very old bloodline. We are cunning, resilient, and impulsive."

"Our mother was," Jeremy hesitated on the name, "Petrova?"

"Indeed."

Elena turned the ring over in her hand. It was just a simple silver band, though rather fat for so dainty a finger as her own, she thought. Even so, she could not help but to feel as though she had seen it before.

"These rings will bring you luck," Katherine continued. "I know it sounds silly, but I would like you both to wear them."

Jeremy shrugged and slipped it onto his finger. "Of course we will wear them, Aunt Katherine."

Elena followed suit. "Thank you."

Katherine smiled, obviously pleased. Then she leaned in to them both, staring them straight in the eyes. Her pupils shuddered inside of her dark irises as she spoke, and before either Elena or Jeremy had time to wonder why, her sentence was spoken, and they felt compelled to do whatever she said.

"_Now go to bed,_"she purred,_ "and never mention this conversation to anyone._"


	3. Tuesday

**Chapter Three**

**Tuesday**

_Mystic Falls, Virginia_

_1864_

Elena paced in front of the window. Occasionally, she would stop to peel back the curtain and look out across the empty front lawn. Then, with a sigh, she would return to pacing. Katherine sat idly by with a copy of _Great Expectations _open in her hands. "Sit down," she commanded. "You are making me nervous."

Elena stopped in her tracks, looking to the floor with red cheeks before finding a seat in the chair next to her aunt. Jeremy smirked. "Whatever could have my dear sister acting such a fool?" he teased. "Is she expecting someone?" He and Katherine shared a smile.

"Of course not," she denied. "I am only growing tired of being cooped up in this house."

"Would you like me to accompany you on a walk?"

"Oh, yes," Katherine agreed. "I'll join you; some fresh air would be lovely."

"No!" Elena jumped up, looking out at the green lawn again.

They knew exactly whom she was waiting for, of course. Every Tuesday, Damon Salvatore would stroll up the walkway with some small task he needed to do in town. Saying he knew how Elena liked the fresh air, he would casually ask if she could accompany him.

When she finally saw him approaching the house, her heart skipped in her chest. He strolled up the lawn with his hands in his pockets, a contented smile on his face as he eyed the pink and orange sky in the distance.

"John!" Elena shouted, bounding up the stairs as quickly as she could under her heavy skirts.

She turned the corner to find John sitting at her father's old desk, an unmarked book in his hand. "What is it, dear?"

"Nothing," she shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "I- I think they need you downstairs. I will be in my room if you need me."

John smiled slightly, setting down his things before heading down the stairs. Though his family was still so unfamiliar to him, it was not lost on him how good they were. Elena was fair and sweet, very marriageable, no matter her eagerness. Any of Mystic Fall's most affluent families would gladly offer their sons to wed.

Jeremy, on the other hand, was rebellious and felt no inclination to follow his father's footsteps into medicine. Still, he was well built and handsome. His will outweighed every obstacle in his life and John hoped he would have the sense to bring honor to his family somehow.

Just as he reached the bottom of the staircase, there was a loud knock at the door. Once opened, Damon Salvatore greeted him with a smile. "Good evening, sir," he began, holding out his hand.

"Damon, please, come in."

"Oh, I am afraid this is not a social call. I was on my way to the post office." He lifted up a package wrapped in brown paper and secured by a string. "I thought Elena might want to join me on the walk there."

"I don't know," John sighed, casting a smirk to the floor. "It is a little late."

Damon tried to mask the defeated look in his eyes, holding on to his faltering smile as hard as he could. "Of course. I suppose I should have come earlier."

Katherine came up behind him, smiling. "Don't be so mean, John. You'll scare him off."

Damon looked up at them both with wide, questioning eyes. "I don't understand."

"He's only joking with you, right John?"

He laughed, taking Damon's hand once more. "I suppose that will be alright, though I do prefer you bring her home before sundown. That killer is still on the loose, you know."

Damon sighed. "Of course, sir."

"Elena," John called. "You have a caller."

As John had his back turned, Damon looked at Katherine gratefully, though she was already staring intently at him. She took one of his hands in hers and placed a small envelope in his palm. Before he could question what was happening, he realized he could not look anywhere but her eyes. "_Give this to Stefan once you return home_," she said quietly. He slid the paper into his pocket casually.

_I mustn't forget to give this to Stefan once I return home_, he thought.

He was roused from his thoughts by Elena, as she finally came out from her hiding place behind the wall. She descended the stairs as gracefully as she could manage. She kept her chin high and her chest out, but stumbled a little on the top step. Damon's face didn't give away that he noticed.

Her smile was broad, and she couldn't help it. With Damon, she felt a tightening in her chest that made it hard to breathe, as though all the happiness he gave her was pouring out of her all at once, taking her breath with it. He looked so handsome, waiting at the bottom of the stairs for her. His navy blue suit fit just as it should, but his curly hair was disheveled, as always.

He took her hand to assist her down the last few steps before pressing her fingers to his lips. "Miss Elena," he smiled.

"Damon," she replied.

"You look lovelier than the time I saw you last."

"Or perhaps your eyesight is getting better."

He chuckled, taking her light blue shawl from her hands and draping it over her shoulders.

After they left, they walked silently for a moment while the house was still close, looping their arms through one another's and enjoying the beautiful colors in the sky.

Damon broke the silence first. "How did my gift suit you?"

"A flower that never dies," she said, glancing at him. "You _are_ clever."

A sideways smile took over his features, "I suppose you bring it out of me."

"I loved it," she laughed. "Thank you."

"How are you?"

"Wonderful," she said, and she meant it. Her arm tightened around his.

"And John? How is it with him there?"

She shrugged. "I still know so little about him. I think he avoids Jeremy and I when he can."

"It must be hard for him to be there. He might feel like he does not belong."

"Well, Jeremy adores him. John has been teaching him to shoot a musket for the last couple of weeks. I think he feels like he has his father again."

"And you?"

"I feel that there is a man named John Gilbert living in my home."

"You should not fret. John is a good man."

"Seems like it," she murmured. "What about you? How is your father?"

Damon's jaw clenched, and he looked straight ahead. "Fine, thank you."

"You would tell me otherwise, right?"

"Of course," he said, and it took him a moment before he could work up a smile.

"He and John have been speaking a lot lately. Did you know?"

"Yes."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course _you _do. Nobody tells me anything. I had to learn this from Jeremy."

"It's only them and the other founders. They have been meeting to discuss the murders. I only learned about it from Stefan."

"I wish I knew what they were saying," she frowned. "It scares me to think that someone out there might be watching us."

"I'll protect you," he smirked.

Her cheeks flushed and she looked down at the package in his hands. "What is it you are sending?"

"A box of rocks."

She laughed. "To whom are you sending a box of rocks?"

"I am sure I'll find someone."

Elena scoffed, pulling the package from his hands and shaking it next to her ear. Indeed, she heard the heavy shapes colliding with each other inside. "I knew you were a scoundrel all along!"

He tried to snatch the package from her hands. "I hear they need more rocks up north! Maybe I'll send them there!"

She squealed giddily. He was very near her now, wrapping his arms around her waist and then up by her head. She was quick and her long arms easily kept the package out of his reach.

Once he was finally able to grasp at both of her arms to stop her movement, they stood like that for a moment, faces inches from one another's. He found himself running his thumb along the inside of her wrist and considered the consequences of stealing a quick kiss right then. She glanced down at his lips only momentarily before meeting his gaze, and he realized he had released both of her arms to hold her slim waist.

She grew ever closer to him, until suddenly her face broke out with a dastardly smirk, easily breaking free and taking off up the dirt road.

Damon smiled, though disappointed he had not taken the chance, and ran after her.

* * *

He had Elena home just on time. Upon looking back at the slowly darkening house, he noticed a small light had illuminated from within her room. A shadow passed over the wall from inside and then she was there, smiling down at him from the window. She gave a small curtsy, and he returned with a bow.

The sun had completed its descent into the horizon as he crossed through the large field that separated his and the Gilbert's house. The harvest was coming, and the tobacco was almost too tall for him to see over. There was nothing but the cool breeze stirring up the sea of green around him. An eerie feeling came over him, as though two eyes grazed his back. He turned quickly just as something moved behind him. A chill ran up his spine and he did not waste another second returning home.

Upon arriving, he immediately went to find Stefan. The house was quiet as usual. There was no light in the parlor, forcing him to feel his way towards the staircase. He heard hushed voices coming from inside his father's study, and suddenly, his mind went blank. Gone were the thoughts of Elena and strangers hidden by tobacco. Now he could only see Katherine. _Give this to Stefan once you return home_, she had instructed. The words rang over and over in his mind.

Without another thought in his head, Damon entered abruptly. "Stefan," he said.

His father looked at him like a fly that was too fast to swat. "We are speaking, Damon. Have you no courtesy?"

"It is important," Damon said, although he could not say why.

"It will still be important in the morning then," his father responded. He stood up from his chair, as if to challenge him. Stefan watched, uneasily standing as well.

Damon moved towards Stefan, going as far as he could around his father. His arm held the note out to Stefan, but before it could reach him, Giuseppe lunged at Damon.

Strong hands came down on his chest, knocking him into the wall and, for a moment, out of his stupor. "You will do anything to disobey me, won't you?" Giuseppe roared.

Again, he slammed his hands into his son's chest, this time grabbing at his coat and flesh in order to raise him to his feet. He slammed him into the wall once, his head smashing into the hinge of the door. Damon's eyes never left his brother. He did not flinch, did not cry out. There was nothing but Katherine's voice in his head.

When Giuseppe finally let go, Damon handed the note to his brother. It was not until a second after that he seemed to realize what was going on around him. Pain seeped into his bones and blood rushed to his cheeks.

"You want me to behave like this?" Giuseppe growled. "Is that what you want, son?"

Damon's confused eyes went between the men in front of him, one concerned and the other cold. "I really needed to deliver that to Stefan," Damon explained, though he did not remember why.

Giuseppe advanced towards Damon again, knocking him on the side of his head with his fist. "You need to obey!" he roared. "Are you listening to me at all?"

"Yes, sir," Damon said. "I am sorry."

"That girl makes you stupid."

"No," he stammered. "I did not mean to offend you."

"So you are stupid on your own, then? I should have known."

At that, Stefan stepped forward, taking the baffled Damon into his arms. Looking back to his father, he forced a smile on his face, "I believe he is just tired. If you would permit, I will take him to bed. Sleep well, father."

"You tell the girl about what we discussed," Giuseppe called after them. "Or I will."

Once safe in his own room, Damon put his head in his hands. When Stefan asked what was wrong with him, he realized he had no idea; he couldn't remember. "What does the note say?" Damon asked after a moment of silence.

Stefan looked down at the small piece of paper, turning it around in his hands. "It is from Katherine," he smiled.

"Right! Katherine!" Damon knew that somehow. He laid back, pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off a pounding headache. "Has she confessed her love for you, brother?"

"It is only just flirtation."

"But what would Father say?" Damon pressed, his face turning sour. "Nothing, of course. You could court the family cow and it would not taint your status as the favorite."

Stefan sighed, "We both know old Betty is too good for me."

Damon laughed out loud. His entire body ached, but perhaps they were only bruises this time. He could not feel any open wounds. "What were you and father talking about?"

"You would not believe me."

"I'll always believe you, brother."

"We cannot talk about it here."

"No?"

"I do not want father to hear."

"Of course not," Damon said, rolling his eyes.

"They were silent for a moment as Stefan worked up the courage to ask what he really wanted to know. He knew Damon would be none to happy to hear it. "So," he murmured, "when are you going to tell her?"


	4. The Council

**Chapter Four**

**The Council**

_Mystic Falls, Virginia_

_1864_

The day was bleak. Mystic Falls seemed empty. Nobody walked the streets or shopped in the square. The seldom song of crows was the only thing that interrupted the eerie quiet that blanketed the town.

"That makes eleven," said Damon, his voice just above a whisper. "Eleven people to go missing since last month."

He walked with Elena's arm wrapped around his, the Salvatore's maze-like garden spread out before them. A horse rocked against a wooden gate in the stables. She looked toward the sound, her nose turning red. "Terrible," she muttered. "Absolutely terrible."

"You should do as John says," he sighed, pulling her along. "Do not worry yourself. You are perfectly safe under his care."

Her frown deepened at the name. "I need to tell you something."

_Let me guess_, she half-expected him to say, _I am so charming and so handsome that you cannot wait another minute. Of course I will run away with you. We shall elope at dawn._ She would roll her eyes and counter with something like, _Actually, I came to invite you to the wedding. Didn't you hear? Old man Lockwood finally proposed. _They would laugh and she would quietly pine for him to say, _I am the embodiment of sincerity. Elena Gilbert, marry me. I want to be yours forever_.

Instead, his gaze remained ahead of him, and she knew something was wrong.

"Before I tell you, you must swear yourself to secrecy, Damon. You mustn't tell anyone. Not even Stefan."

He grinned slightly. "Of course. I wouldn't think of it."

She glanced around them to ensure they were still alone. "John has behaved strangely these last few weeks."

He behaved strangely everyday, for he was a strange man, Damon thought, but he kept silent.

She took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts and posing her words carefully. "He has been hidden away in father's study, missing meals, sleeping during the day. His temper is capricious, and he is prone to fits of rage. Between that and those meetings with the Founder's Committee–"

"Council."

"Yes, Council. They spend so much time together, but I wonder what they could possibly be speaking of all of this time. They discovered who killed those poor boys, no? It was an animal. What more are they searching for? What could have John acting so much like-" She sucked in a breath, her eyes falling to the ground.

"Like?"

"My father," she whispered, and she stopped walking altogether. "What if he is ill? John is so much like my father after my mother... left."

He yearned to wrap his arms around her. Her head would fit in the crook of his shoulder nicely, he imagined, and she would finally be close enough for him to inhale the perfume that clung to her skin. Perhaps he could even kiss her. He would do anything to take that sadness from her eyes.

Instead, he pulled her closer to his side and lowered his voice further. "He is stressed about catching the v- animal, I'm sure."

Her voice cracked as her desperate brown eyes came to meet his. "What if my father's madness has spread? Will I be next?" She imagined how she might look if someone found her hanging in her bedroom, her skirts billowing just inches from the floor. Would it look like she was hovering? Was that how her father looked? A chill spread through her veins.

"Of course not!" he said, and if she had not looked so scared, he might have laughed at the very idea. "The fear is all in your mind."

"I lose time," she blurted. "I know it sounds odd, but I will sit down to read a book in the morning, and the next moment I will awaken in my own bed in the dead of night. I wake up one day without any memory of the day before. What could that mean?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You need rest, it seems."

"Listen to me!" she pleaded. "I would never say it out loud if I did not mean it. I know the risk my words carry. My family could have me put away."

"Have you told anyone else?"

"I thought to tell Katherine, once. She seems... different, but I feel I cannot trust her."

Katherine seemed normal enough to him, but he dared not say that to Elena. He bit the inside of his cheek, pondering the consequences of telling her everything he knew.

Her brown eyes shrunk to slits, and he was caught before he could make a decision. "What are you hiding?"

"Stefan can tell you more than I."

"Whatever Stefan knows, I am assured you know as well. Tell me."

He sighed. "You know of the Founder's Council?"

"Of course. John helped create it."

"Do you know the reason for its creation?"

She paused. "I suppose it is to be like a city council"

"Wrong." He took her arm once again and pulled her down the path. "They hope to find whoever is responsible for the recent disappearances."

"No, they've already discovered the culprit."

The last person to go missing in Mystic Falls was a hunter. He was gone for two days when his body was found a mile from the wooded path, hanging by his toes and drained of blood. His own daughter found the body, and her screams were heard in every corner of the forest.

The townspeople flew into an uproar when whispers of witchcraft and heresy spread. Not one of them had ever been exposed to such depraved wickedness.

"It was a wildcat," Elena said.

"According to whom?"

She bit the inside of her cheek. "Sheriff Forbes."

"Who also helped gather the Founder's Council."

"What of it?"

"He never caught the wildcat, did he? He just claimed to have seen on prowling the woods. I have lived in Virginia my whole life, and I have _never _seen a prowling wildcat."

"What are you getting at?"

"It was no animal who attacked those people."

Frustration swelled in her chest. "Now I am certain you are playing a trick on me."

"No!" he assured her, trying to keep quiet. "Please, I will tell you everything I know."

"Everything Stefan told you?"

"Yes."

"And where did he hear any of it?"

"Who else? My father comes home after every meeting and gives Stefan a full retelling."

"So who is responsible, then, if there is no wildcat?"

"Do you remember, before your father... well, when he first began acting strangely? He claimed that your mother was never really sick, that she had been taken by a spirit of some sort."

She almost snorted. "Am I supposed to believe any of that was true?"

"Well, no. His research was, or is, chaotic."

"How would you know?"

He swallowed hard. "According to my father, John has been sharing your father's research with the council."

Heat rose to her cheeks and her nails dug into the palm of her hand. "After the humiliation my father faced for having it in the first place? He was almost thrown from the church!"

"The Reverend has... come around to the council since then."

She felt like she could scream, or explode, whichever came first. Voices still rang in the back of her mind, spewing godless lies about her father's attachment to the devil.

"No one was ready to accept the truth when your father was alive. Not until children started finding dead men hanging by their toes in the forest."

"I have no desire to hear you coming to their defense," she growled, and it was the angriest Damon had ever seen her.

"The Council is training to hunt monsters," he blurted.

"What monsters?"

"They are nameless, or nameful - that's what John says. Your father's research is extensive. It goes back centuries."

"His research on these 'nameful' monsters?"

"There are hundreds of passages about ancient demons that feed on the very life of a human. Stefan has told me stories of cities and empires being caught in an invisible plague with bloodless dead bodies piling up in the streets. No story, no memory of the beasts are the same. Some write that they are beautiful and prone to mesmerism just by looking their prey in the eyes. Some are sensitive to wood, others to silver. Everyone calls them something different. The Council has chosen to name them vampires."

"How can they know anything if they do not know their true name?"

"Without a doubt, they know that the beasts survive off of the blood of living things. They suspect that they cannot walk in the light of the sun." They also knew that vampires were irrevocably evil in nature, but Damon decided not to tell her that.

She had a million questions but none coherent enough to express out loud. Her eyes pierced his, searching to see if anything but the truth lay in them, but his expression was earnest. She trusted him.

"Let me take you home, Miss Elena." He reached over to pull her jacket tighter around her. "You look cold, and we can discuss this more when you have had time to think on it."


	5. Miss Katherine

**Chapter Five**

**Miss Katherine**

_Mystic Falls, Virginia_

_1864_

The sun seemed to have disappeared forever behind a wall of gray clouds, but it was high in the sky as Stefan made his way across the fading green grass of the Gilbert's lawn. It had been so long since he felt the sun on his face that he could swear he was glowing from within.

Until that day, all the happiness had been drained from the town. Mothers forbade their children from going to school, shop owners had 'closed' signs in their windows, and absolutely no one wandered around at night. The streets were lonely and quiet, but with the sun shining down on him, Stefan could pretend he was happy.

He couldn't help but think his newfound bliss was coming from something else, as well. Just a few more steps and he would get to see Katherine. For weeks, they'd been secretly sending each other letters that confessed to each other their blossoming affections. They met in out-of-the-way places. He tore poems from the books in his father's library and she sent pressed flowers from the Gilbert's garden.

She was strict, forbidding him to even look at her in public. Some days, that seemed almost impossible. Then, much to his surprise, a letter arrived at his doorstep.

_Miss Katherine Pierce requests the pleasure of Mr. Stefan Salvatore's company on Monday, the eleventh of October at half after three o'clock._

The words were neatly printed on thick paper that housed the Gilbert family crest at the top. Katherine's name was scratched in sharp black letters at the bottom.

He said nothing to his neither is father. Not even Damon knew, for this was all rather scandalous. She was far too old to be considered an eligible bride for him - almost twenty-five, he would guess. He often wondered how someone has beautiful and charming as she could was unmarried. Still, it would not be proper. He was barely nineteen.

He often dreamed of running off with her, going someplace where everyone was a stranger to them. They could marry and live on a farm. She was still young enough to bear him a child, perhaps many of them. In those dreams, Damon was there too, for he could never be happy without his best friend.

The door opened abruptly, rousing him from his thoughts. Emily stood before him, a knowing smirk on her face. "I am here for Miss Katherine," he said, stumbling over his words. She opened the door without a word.

Katherine sat in the parlor, her eyes trained on the door, when he walked in. She stood, a smile on her face. "Good afternoon, Mr. Salvatore."

He approached, a little too quickly, giving a small bow in response to her curtsy. "Good afternoon."

"Sit," she ordered, following her own directions.

Perched upon the edge of her chair, she reminded him of a bird. She looked small upon the large cushion under her. Not a hair was out of place and the hoopskirt of her dress fell perfectly around her, the lace moving slightly with the warm breeze coming in through an open window. Her chest rose and fell slowly, and her hands lay perfectly at ease in her lap. He felt all the air leave his body, as though he could not focus as long as she was this beautiful.

A young girl entered the room with a tray in her hands and placed it on the table. She set an empty cup and saucer delicately in front of the two of them, and then straightened to leave the room. Her eyes were trained blankly ahead of her.

Katherine picked up the teapot, a small smile on her face, and poured the steaming liquid into both of their cups.

"The staff caters to you nicely," Stefan said awkwardly.

"Well, it is their job," she chuckled.

He took his cup as it was, sipping the dark tea as she dropped two sugar cubes in her own. "I'm sure you are curious as to why I would ask you here like this." Her eyes remained on the task at hand.

He nodded.

"I have a feeling that your family, as well as mine, would not be happy to know of the affection I have for you."

He went cold, fearing she had only called on him to tell him they could not go on as they had before.

She pushed her untouched cup and saucer away from her on the table. There was a moment of silence, filled only with the sound of two ticking clocks. One was slightly ahead of the other, creating a disorienting noise that repeated over and over. _Ti-Tick. Ti-Tick. Ti-Tick._ Stefan could feel sweat forming on his brow.

Finally, Katherine sighed. "I have no intention of ending our relationship, if you would have me." She stood, holding back her skirts to sit on the couch next to him. Relieved, he scooted close enough that his thigh brushed against the fabric of her dress. "You see, Stefan, I always get what I want, and I very much want you."

He breathed her in, so relieved by her words. Visions of her flashed before his eyes: the perfect Katherine with her hair loosely pulled back, locks falling in her eyes as she played with their little boy. He would have her dark eyes and hair; he would have her everything. In the corner, there would be a crib and he could hear the coos of a little girl. Perfect.

The feeling of her hand in his hair drew him out of the thought. "My father will never approve. We'll have to run away."

She laughed. "That will not be a problem, darling."

"Why?"

"Because I do not intend for anyone to find out about this, us."

"Why?" he repeated.

"You should not worry yourself. It is better for us all if no one knows."

"But what if you'd like to marry me in the future?"

She raised an eyebrow as if the thought had never occurred to her. "My concern is not whether I would like to marry you in the future, but whether _you_ will still want me around."

"I do not understand."

"One day you will grow tired of me." She said it as simply as she would have said, "The sky is blue."

"Why would you say that?"

"I do not take it personally. That is just the way things are."

"How could you possibly know?"

"I have lived a long life, let us leave it at that."

He thought for a moment. She may be too old for his father to approve of his marriage to her, but her life was hardly long. Or was it? In six years, would he too believe that his life was long? "What if you are wrong? What if, in ten years, you realize that I am still around? What will you do then?"

She raised a hand to stroke his hair. "Then we can have this discussion again."

"What will happen until then?"

She took a sip of her tea. "I want to show you something."

"What?"

"It may be difficult for you to understand at first."

"You can tell me anything."

"Get Sarah," she called without looking back. The girl who had brought their tea disappeared for a moment before promptly returning with another girl. She was older, but they wore their hair alike and had the same skin tone. Sisters, he assumed. "This is Sarah," Katherine continued. "She is a very important friend of mine."

He nodded politely towards her, but she only looked ahead with the same dreamy look as her sister. Katherine, however, stared at him intently as she took Sarah's hand into hers. Her fingers slipped nimbly over Sarah's arm, drawing the sleeve of her dress back to reveal the tan skin of her wrist.

He was confused, but did not say a word.

Katherine held Sarah's wrist before him, catching his eyes in a vice-like stare. "_Do not make a sound_," she purred, and her voice took his away. "_Do not move_." His muscles froze like ice. "_Watch._"

She raised Sarah's wrist to her mouth. He thought she was kissing it until he saw a small drop of blood run down her chin. Her face changed before him, her eyes turning dark red and veins ebbing like blue spiderwebs beneath them. Bile rose in his throat, but he moved not an inch.

Now his previous dreams of Katherine were stained by blood; the crib was turned over and a pale little boy hung limp in his arms. _Vampire_, he thought. This was the beast his father so desperately wanted to kill.

When she finished, Sarah cradled the bitten arm in the other. She gave a small curtsy, seemingly unbothered, and went to treat the wound with a handkerchief in the corner by her sister.

"_You are calm_," Katherine said, enchanting him once more. Instantly, he felt his pulse slow. "_You do not want to run. You feel just the same as you did before_."

He felt the muscles in his throat brace to speak, but he could not.

"Come," she said. "_Tell me what is on your mind_."

And he voice was free. "You are the beast," was all he could think to say, though it did not disgust him as much to say that as he thought it would.

"_A_ beast," she smirked. "If you want to put it like that."

"I do not understand."

"I am sure you have deduced that I am one of those big, bad monsters your father and every other simple-minded clod in this town are talking about."

"You are the one who took those people?"

"Make no mistake, those people are not simply 'taken'. They are surely dead."

"You killed them?"

"Unfortunately, no. Sarah keeps me fed so I do not make such silly mistakes."

"There is another, then."

"I believe so. They must be a young, as far as vampires go. Someone as old as I would never be so careless."

"Then you are innocent," he sighed.

"Would you feel any differently about me if I said no?"

He thought about it for a moment, but it was all too much to take in. He could not get his thoughts straight.

"I do not expect you to understand this all at once. I know it must be difficult for you, but I will tell you anything you want to know."

"Why?"

She bit her lip. "I have a favor to ask. You see, I am quite enticed by you. It has been a long while since I felt this way about anyone."

His stomach jumped.

"I have grown tired of Sarah's blood. It is rather like sitting down to eat plain oats day after day. I do not want her blood anymore. I want yours."

Now his stomach was churning and he glanced down at his wrists. Everything was so muddled. He was calm, but he was very scared. His instincts were telling him to run, but his mind was telling him to stay. She followed his gaze down, running her fingers over his skin.

"What if I say no?"

For a moment he feared she would be angry, but she never even flinched. "If you say no, then I will ask you to leave and I won't see you anymore. I will make sure you do not remember this, and I will let you go on to find another woman - one your father would approve of."

He frowned at that idea. "You won't let me see you anymore?"

"I cannot guess who would be in more pain."

His decision was made without another thought, and he offered his wrist to her without a word. He was far too deep to let her go now.

She smiled and grasped his hand in both of hers. Her mouth was hot as it clamped down on the soft skin of his arm.

He flinched. Sarah never made a sound, yet he almost yelped when he felt her jagged teeth pierce his veins. His heartbeat moved to the tips of his fingers, and he wondered if he had made a mistake.

When she was finished, there were only two tiny holes on his wrist. Not a drop was spilt. She leaned in to kiss him with her face still that of the beast, and he could taste his own blood on her lips.

He was not entirely repulsed, which confused him. He was lightheaded, though he could not tell if it was from blood-loss or her nearness.

"I should clean this," he said, searching his pocket for his handkerchief.

"No need. I cannot let you run home with a bite like that. Your father would be suspicious."

A chill set in his heart. He had not thought about that. "What will I do?"

Calmly, Katherine raised her own wrist to her mouth, sinking her teeth into her pale blue veins just as she had done to him. "Do you trust me?" she said, her teeth stained red.

_Yes! _his heart screamed. _NO!_ his stomach bellowed.

He took Katherine's delicate-looking arm into his fingers, suddenly embarrassed. Was there an appropriate way to go about this? He had never touched another person in this way before. Truthfully, he never planned to.

"Go on," she whispered.

He wrapped his mouth around her wrist as she had done to him, running his tongue along the hot skin beneath his teeth. The blood flowed willingly into his waiting mouth, and he felt a fire ignite in his chest. Memories of his teeth falling out as a child swam around his head. Katherine's blood was not unlike the taste of his own. It was thin and metallic, but there was something bitter about it too.

He drank until the blood stopped flowing. Katherine pulled her arm back, the bite she created gone as if it never existed.

"How?" he breathed.

"Look."

He turned his attention to his own arm, the holes slowly closing before his eyes. Sitting back, he wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. He felt as if he had just eaten an entire meal. Every nerve in his body had begun to move inside of him. For a moment he feared that he would vibrate out of his chair. His teeth chattered and the bottom of his spine tingled and twitched. A fire was lit beneath him, and he knew he had never truly been alive until that moment. He needed to move, to dance, to scream. He needed to be closer to Katherine.

She watched him with a small smile on her face as he stood up and began to pace back and forth_. _"How do you feel?"

He swung around to meet her gaze, "Like I could do anything!"

"Anything?"

"Anything!"

"Can you come sit next to me?"

He forced himself down where he was sitting before. She took his hand once more and placed a gentle kiss on the spot where she had bitten. "Thank you."

God, she was so beautiful. When he looked at her he swore he could feel a tremor run through his ribcage. Without a thought, he smashed his lips unto hers. He was clumsy, unpracticed, but she smiled against his lips anyway. Her fingers came to cradle his face, forcing him to slow down. He had never kissed anyone before.

Too soon, she gently pushed him away. Grabbing his face, she forced his eyes to land on hers. "_I need you to focus, Stefan. I only need one more thing_."

His vision cleared and the fog fell away from his mind. He nodded beneath her grip.

"_Tell me everything your father knows._"

This confused him. Surely his father knew a lot – he was an educated man. There was too much for him to tell her. His father knew how to whittle and he could break a horse. There was the entirety of his education, and of course he knew all about Mystic F-

"Specifically," she sighed, bringing him from his thoughts, "about vampires." Now he understood. "Do they have any suspects?"

"There's a cabin out in the woods. A freeman lives there alone."

"And?"

Stefan thought of his father, red in the face and spitting about the man in the woods. It was too foul a sermon to repeat to Katherine. He shrugged. "They suspect him."

"Anyone else?" she sighed.

"They are taking note of everyone who is seen walking in the daylight, but it is taking some time."

_They don't know anything_, she thought gleefully. "Can they kill a vampire?"

"If you stake one in the heart, it will die."

"Do they know of vervain?"

He tried to nod again, but she was still holding his face. She released him before he spoke. "They have begun buying large quantities from an apothecary in town."

"What are they going to do with it?"

"They're hiding it in things that vampire could potentially touch: perfumes, liquor, food - that sort of thing. If they catch someone being burned or choked, then they will know it is a vampire.

She rolled her eyes. At least they weren't wearing it, or worse, ingesting it. "_If anyone asks you to drink vervain, you must tell me_."

"Why?"

"Because, it could hurt me if it's in your blood."

He shook his head furiously, "I would never hurt you, I promise."

She took his hand in hers and patted it softly. "Of course not, darling. Now, where are they getting all of this information?"

"John Gilbert has a stash of books he inherited from his brother." He told her all about the Founder's Council. Any detail his father gave him, he offered. She masked her satisfaction when she realized she had not compelled her to tell her any of it, but he did of his own free will.

"Where do they keep these books you mentioned?"

"John keeps all the information in his brother's study. Only he has the key, so they're safe."

"Safe as can be when _I_ am around."


	6. Smoke

**Chapter Six**

**Smoke**

_Mystic Falls, Virginia_

_1864_

The upstairs hall was still aside from the flickering light of the candle in Katherine's hand. From inside of their rooms, she could hear Jeremy and Elena's hearts beating quietly. "_Stay here until I come for you_," she told them both.

John stood just below her, his and Giuseppe Salvatore's hushed voices rising up through the floorboards and into her sharp ears. Every word was as crisp and clear as if she were standing right between the two.

The sun began to sink faster in the sky, and their conversation sped up along with it. Mr. Salvatore was obviously in a rush to get home.

"We cannot go on like this, John."

She smiled. These men had only one job before: to exist, to live, to thrive. Now their easy existence had been compromised; they faced adversity, and it warmed her heart to think that her own kind was responsible for putting fear in these men's eyes. In a way, they were scared of her.

She moved on down the hall, faster than light could travel. Not a sound came from her quick feet. The office of Grayson Gilbert was concealed behind to heavy wooden doors. John spent so much time locked inside that she feared she would never get a good look inside. Now was her chance.

She tried the door handle, but it held firmly in place. She could crush the door beneath her fist without putting so much as a wrinkle in her gown. _No_, she thought. She could not leave any evidence behind.

Just as she considered sneaking outside and breaking in through the window, the conversation below halted. A door slammed and footsteps made their way up the staris. She flew back further into the hall and waited until the footsteps evened out. As John made his way down the hall, she casually began walking towards him. "I was just coming to remind Mr. Salvatore of the time," she lied. "The sun goes down quickly these days."

He smiled awkwardly, "No need to worry."

They came to meet in front of the office door. She had never tried to compel him before. If he happened to carry vervain on him, he would know something was wrong. She sucked in a breath and bore her eyes into his, hoping she looked casual enough. "_It's rather cold, isn't it?_"

In actuality, it was incredibly hot. A fire was burning in every room. She could see sweat forming on his brow. She just needed to hear his answer. "Indeed," his body shook a little. "I might sleep with an extra blanket tonight."

She was so relieved that she smiled. As of yet, the Council knew that vervain was a weapon against vampires, but they had no idea how else it would protect them. "What a lovely idea, but first, _could you unlock the study_?"

He looked ahead blankly, fishing in his pockets for the key. "Of course."

She smirked. What was this man compared to her? He was dough in her hands, raw meat in her eyes. _Pathetic_, she thought. He unlocked the door and looked back to her dreamily. "_Now, go to bed and forget this ever happened_. _Stay there. You never saw me tonight._"

He nodded and walked to his room without looking back. Katherine waited until he was out of sight to slip into the office. The room was a mess. There were books upon books strewn across the floor. Some were open and some were closed, stacks started from the floor and towered above her head. Her stomach dipped. She expected a few books on the supernatural, maybe a copy of _The Vampyre _and the Old Testament, but nothing like this. There was literature, journals, and pieces of parchment covering every inch of the room.

Before, she hoped to find the source of the Council's information and toy with it. She would have every man in town wearing a frilly skirt if they thought it would protect them from vampires. She never expected that there would be this much to go through.

She grabbed an open journal from atop the stack on the desk. The brown leather cover was worn from overuse.

_November 16, 1863_, was the date at the top of the page - almost a year ago.

_I have lost all hope that my wife will survive this sickness. The children are distraught, and I am lost._

She flipped to another page.

_November 23, 1863_

_Elena incessantly begs to see her mother, and I have no choice but to refuse her._

This was Grayson Gilbert's diary, Katherine realized. She bit her lip.

_I found a crescent shaped mark on her arm. Doctor Fell has no idea what to make of it. I read that they are called the "marks of the moon." Demons leave them behind after feeding on the lives of innocents. No one believes me._

_November 25, 1863_

_... pale white. The hollows of her cheeks better resemble valleys between mountains. Her mind is lost. She no longer remembers my name._

_November 26, 1863_

_I found a single drop of blood on the pillow. We tied her down to prevent her from scratching herself. I read that hysteria is worsened by the full moon._

_November 29, 1863_

_She had a nice day today. I allowed the children in to see her, but I know that it was the last time. Her room smells of death, but I fear to leave the window open. I do not wish to allow any more evil spirits to her bedside._

_December 1, 1863_

_She left us in the night. Her skin was white as snow, her lips pale blue. No longer was she my Miranda, but the ghost of her. I feel void of life and full of rage._

_December 16, 1863_

_The Reverend does not want to believe, but he will know. By God, my wife was not the last victim of this Beast. Mark my words._

_December 27, 1863_

_Shadows go by my window in the night. I see a mane of dark brown. Miranda's eyes watch me in my sleep. Satan has come for me._

_December 30, 1863_

_I will not be taken so easily. By my own hand I die, and should Abaddon drag me to hell with his army of locusts, then I will howl our Savior's name into the darkest pits of the Inferno. My blood is pure, and it will remain. Damn them all._

Katherine threw the journal to the ground, taking a deep breath to collect herself.

She went straight to Elena's room. She was sitting on her bed, staring off into space just as Katherine had left her. "_Go downstairs. Wait by the door. I will come for you_."

Elena nodded.

After she had done the same to Jeremy, she made her way to John's room. He was stirring on the inside. She wrapped her fingers around the doorknob and squeezed. The metal squeaked quietly in protest, but bent easily in her hands. She twisted until it finally broke off.

With that, she took the lanterns from her room and the hallway to carry back to the study. She didn't stop to think once her decision was made. Instead, she poured the oil from the lanterns up and down the curtains. The ink in the books bled together as she splattered the oil over their pages. She stepped out before tossing the other lantern to the office floor. The glass smashed and heat sprayed her face as the room caught ablaze. The flames roared, consuming everything they touched. Tongues of flame curled out the door and she took an instinctive step back. She was almost giddy as she fled down the stares.

Smoke filled her lungs and she could see dark clouds forming by the ceiling. Elena and Jeremy waited obediently by the door, choking. Katherine put her hands on their shoulders to get their attention, bringing a finger to her lips to keep them quiet. She wanted to wait just a bit longer before the poor Gilbert family came running helplessly out of their burning home. She could hear John in a fit of coughs above them, but it only made her smile wider.

When Elena and Jeremy could not bear it any longer, their eyes filled with tears and their coughs nothing more than wheezes, she decided it was time. "_Jeremy,_" she said, holding his face._ 'You woke up to smoke and came looking for us when you realized something was burning. You woke your sister, then me, and brought us downstairs_." Her pupils returned to normal and she opened the door. "Now run."

Elena tripped over her nightgown as she fled onto the yard. Jeremy held tightly to her arm, stumbling just as she had. Katherine was right behind them, shrieking as loud as she could.

Flames danced behind the windows in Elena's room. She felt tears falling down her face. _Why is this happening?_ she wondered. It felt as if she should know.

Shouts came from the distance. The Fells ran up the road, noise coming from their mouths, but Elena could not understand what they were saying. Katherine waved furiously. "Help! Please help!"

More shouts came from the other side of her. The Salvatores, along with their stable boy, came barreling through the field of tobacco. Giuseppe had a rifle strapped to his back.

Katherine saw Stefan running towards her, but she glared at him. _Not now_, she thought. He hesitated before falling behind his brother and father. Damon, however, ran straight to Elena. He grabbed her face, looking into her eyes that would not look back. "Elena! Elena, are you all right?"

"Uncle John," she croaked. Her breath tasted like ash. "Where is Uncle John?"

"John?" Damon called, looking around frantically. "Where is Johnathan Gilbert?"

Katherine had to hide a smile. "He must still be inside."

Elena shook her head, and tears continued to spill down her face. Besides Jeremy, John was the last family she had left. She wondered if he was being burned alive at that very moment.

Damon watched her for a moment. Each tear that fell made his insides hurt. He took her face in his hands once more and brought her lips roughly to his. It was not as he had always imagined. In his dreams, they were hidden by leaves of tobacco when he kissed her. It was quiet except for a breeze rustling the leaves in the trees. She was smiling, too. He could smell her soft skin, and feel her hair beneath his fingers.

But everyone was screaming over one another. His face was wet from her tears. Everything smelt like smoke. She looked up at him, a silent question in her eyes.

Without explaining, he turned and ran to the house. The growing crowd called after him, but he never slowed. Stefan watched in horror and before he knew it, he was running too.

"Stefan!" Katherine yelled. It was a mistake, but no one seemed to notice amidst the chaos.

He found Damon standing at a door at the end of the hallway upstairs, covering his mouth and nose with a handkerchief. "What are you doing?"

"The handle is missing."

The door had a hole in the very center. "Did you try to kick it in?"

"I think he did. Look." Stefan peaked through the hole. John's body was curled up on the floor. A wall to his left was ablaze and smoke slowly filtered out through the hole in the door. The brothers took turns ramming their bodies against the thick wood, but the longer they tried, the more the door seemed to be made of stone.

They were struggling to breathe. Stefan paused, hunching over to cough. Damon made one final kick where the doorknob used to be. The wood splintered beneath his foot and the door finally swung open. He didn't have time to be relieved now.

He bent down and grabbed John by his underarms. "Stefan," he grunted. "Stefan, come."

They made a slow and clumsy escape, the entire structure of the house groaning under their feet as they went. Damon looked into the rooms as they passed. One looked to be the study, the giant flames that erupted forcing him and Stefan to cling to the wall when they passed. Another, he assumed, was Elena's. The soft pink wallpaper was turning brown from the ground up as the flames licked at the walls. What was left of the champagne colored curtains billowed above the fire. A doll sat at the foot of the bed, blackened. He wished he could save something for her, but her uncle would have to do.

They practically threw the man on the ground once they made it down the front steps of the porch. Giuseppe ran to Stefan's side, and Damon struggled down back to Elena's side. Her wide eyes were unblinking as they rested on John's unmoving body. She turned to look at Damon, her mouth open as though to say something. Her knees buckled, and his eyes turned to stars. The ground knocked the breath from her lungs and everything went dark.

* * *

It felt as though she had been suspended somewhere between alive and dead for days. Her lungs burned and she struggled to fill them with air. She smelled something burning, but she did not want to open her eyes. She wanted to be unconscious, blissfully unaware of the pain in her lungs and in her hips.

She forced her eyes open. She was buried in a pile of soft fabric, lurking so deep under it all that she couldn't see anything but the ceiling above her. Light jumped across the canopy of the bed, likely a result of whatever she heard burning. She sat up and a fire crackled in the fireplace to her left, but it was not like her fireplace… or any fireplace in her home. This one was made of white marble with gold accents. Her own was made of clay bricks. The room was a sullen gray color, marked with dark oak furniture. Pretty, she thought, but unfamiliar.

Just as she was about to investigate further, she heard someone at the door. It opened slowly and only just a sliver. A foot slid in followed by a body, and then wavy black hair. Damon didn't look at her at first. He looked back and forth down the hallway before closing the door quietly behind him. She sat there with wide eyes, watching him, as he slowly turned around to face her. He jumped a little when he realized she was awake. "Elena!" He almost forgot to whisper.

"Where am I?"

He rushed to her side, sitting on the bed. "How are you?"

She thought honestly about that question. "There was a fire."

"The Sheriff and my father went to evaluate the damages a few hours ago."

"What about John?"

"The Doctor left a while ago. He is... alive."

She closed her eyes, pleading with herself not to cry. "And my home?"

"Gone."

She nodded, her face growing hot. "Where am I?" she asked again.

"Father volunteered to house your family while John settles things."

She looked around once more. She had never seen anything beyond the Salvatore's parlor.

They sat quietly for a moment, Damon looking at his shoes. He did not know what to say. He almost jumped when he felt her arms wrap around his neck. "Thank you," she whispered.

He smiled, burying his face in the hair on her shoulder and wrapping his arms tightly around her torso. She still smelled like smoke, but he did not care. "How are you?" he mumbled into her.

She pulled back, tucking a loose tendril behind her ear. "I will survive."

"Should I have grabbed a fainting couch while I was retrieving John?" he joked.

"Tease all you want," she said through red cheeks, "but _you_ were the one to stand idly while I crashed to the ground. Very unmannerly."

"Please don't be angry with me," he chuckled. "I did not make it much longer until I, too, was unconscious."

She smiled through the pooling tears in her eyes. "Where will we go, Damon?"

"You are exactly where you belong," he smiled. "With me."


	7. Good News

**Chapter Seven**

**Good News**

_Mystic Falls, Virginia_

_1864_

Elena shifted uncomfortably at the dinner table. The ugly yellow fabric of her dress was too loose on her arms and too tight around her torso. She wriggled and writhed, but chafed skin under her arms only grew redder. After the fire, the esteemed wives of the Founder's Council had donated their long unwanted gowns to the poor homeless ladies of the Gilbert estate. John and Jeremy's borrowed outfits from the Salvatores fit no better.

John sat at the end of the table, opposite of Giuseppe. He slumped down in his chair, his food untouched. His hands were wrapped in thick bandages from being burnt in the fire. Most of his day, like the ones before, was spent atop the rubble of the Gilbert house. A single fireplace was all that stood, casting its shadow over the blackened ruins. Miranda Gilbert's mare was the only living thing to perish.

Desperate to settle his affairs, John met with a contractor early in the day. Elena could tell by his foul mood that the encounter had not gone well. He was even meaner than usual, if that was even possible. She silently forgave him, though he made no apologies. The stress was surely a great burden to bear.

Jeremy pushed the food around on his plate. The town recognized him as a great hero for detecting the fire in the first place, but he barely spoke after. All of the trinkets and memories of his mother and father were gone, like the two of them never existed at all.

Elena caught Stefan staring across the table at Katherine, though he did not seem to notice. She shot a sideways glance at Damon, but his eyes were trained on his soup. He, too, had been in a mood, though she did not know why.

Every part of her life was so opposite of what it used to be, and all she could think was, _Why are these damned clothes so uncomfortable?_

Katherine placed a hand on her shoulder, and Elena leaned back in her chair with a frustrated sigh.

"One might think they have never built anything before!" John exclaimed.

Giuseppe set his drink down. "Well, how long do they think it will take?"

"The man I spoke to could not say. He kept bringing up the cost of demolition. I said, 'What more can be demolished? Give the wind a week or so to blow the ash away!' If he wants any money at all he will be ready to build before spring arrives."

"Well, you are always welcome in my home."

John smiled, raising his glass. "You've been a savior to us."

Giuseppe tipped his head, "It is my pleasure." He looked to Elena who was squirming again. "Now, when are you girls planning on purchasing new dresses?"

"Elena and I have a fitting tomorrow," Katherine said, her cheeks warm with excitement. "Honoria Fell promised a fair price."

John snorted into his drink. "We'll be lucky if we can even afford a house after she is done with us."

Elena ducked her head apologetically, but Katherine held her ground. "I offered to pay, John. You can still accept if the burden is too heavy on your finances."

"Nonsense," he boasted. "I cannot let a lady go bankrupt over a few silly dresses."

She willed herself not to roll her eyes.

Sensing the tension, Giuseppe stood. "May I have your attention, everyone?" Everyone looked up to him curiously minus Damon, whose muscles went rigid beneath his jacket. "Yes, good. I am afraid we forgot to mention the good news to you all." He raised a hand towards Damon, "Stand up, _son_." Stefan shifted uncomfortably. His father had called his brother a lot of things, but "son" was not usually one of them. Elena looked up to Damon who stood beside her. _He is going to propose_, she thought gleefully. Her heart might have stopped. "Go on, tell them."

Damon looked guiltily down at her, but she smiled to comfort him. _Yes! _she screamed internally. _Yes, yes, a million times, yes! _"I-I… I was not planning on having it come out like this," he stammered. "I hoped... later tonight-"

"Spit it out," his father growled.

He closed his eyes as spoke, keeping his fists clenched at his sides. "I will be leaving for the war soon."

Then Elena's heart _did_ stop, she was sure of it. Ice sank to the pit of her stomach.

"Within the month," he continued, "I will be fighting for the glory of the Confederate States of America."

Giuseppe let out a delighted chuckle. "Isn't it wonderful?"

Everybody's eyes fell on Elena, who masked her horror behind an awkward grimace. Acid carved its way up her throat, and she feared she would empty her stomach if she opened her mouth to say anything. How could he leave now? Everybody knew that the Confederacy stood on its last legs. The war was all but over. What purpose could he possibly serve?

She imagined the months of waiting for his letters, until one day they would simply stop coming. Would he be buried on the spot he dies, or would they bring him back to Virginia? Or perhaps he would live long enough to meet someone newer and prettier.

Her chair groaned as she slid it across the floor. "I feel unwell," she murmured. "Please excuse me."

The tension was thick in the air as Damon pushed his own seat back. He wished to God that his father would burst into flames at that very moment. Giuseppe glared defiantly back."I should go check on the lady," he sighed. "Excuse me."

The table was quiet as he walked away.

Tears fell from Elena's face onto the horrid skirt of her dress. She faced away from Damon as he entered, looking out the window upon miles of tobacco. She turned to smile sadly at him as he closed the door. "I'm sorry I left in the midst of your good news."

"You believe it was good news?"

"Of course I do. Soldiers bring great honor to their families back home. It is an honor to have even known your courage. I will remember it forever."

"You speak as though I am already dead."

"You are."

He frowned. "I had no choice."

"Are you not a man? Do you have any say in your own life?"

He came to sit next to her, pulling her head onto his shoulder. "As much say as you have in your own, I'm afraid."

"How can you leave me here alone? I'll have no one."

"You have your brother."

"Jeremy won't speak to me," she sobbed. "All he cares for is that stupid house and that stupid Donavan girl."

"You have Katherine."

"I know her about as well as my uncle, and I know him not at all."

"You will always have me. I'll write to you."

She ripped away from his side, pacing back and forth in front of him. ,"My dearest Elena," she mocked, "I had my arm blown off on the battlefield today, but there is no need to fret - I still have my writing hand!"

"You are being morbid."

"Good news," she continued, "my lieutenant says that the infection will kill me off long before a union soldier can, so at least I shall die with a morsel of dignity."

He stood, grabbing her by the shoulders. She struggled against him, but he was far too strong for her to escape. She was sobbing now. "Elena," he whispered. "Elena, please listen." She was slamming her fists into his chest, the thought of losing him too much to bear.

"I will _never_ forgive you," she groaned into his chest.

He brushed his hand softly through her curly hair. "I promise to come back. Do you hear me? I won't be gone forever."

* * *

Damon stood patiently next to his brother at the bottom of their staircase. Unlike Stefan, he was nervous. Elena was still furious with him, but she would soon be forced to face him once again. Even though the sun was still high in the sky, the first Founder's Ball was officially underway. Though it was not the custom to hold such an event this early in the day, the Founder's Council agreed it would be safest for everyone to keep everyone both in and out of the dark.

John and Jeremy had left earlier than the rest, but Katherine insisted she "absolutely could not be one of the first to the party," so the Salvatore brothers volunteered to stay behind and escort the ladies.

Stefan ran a hand through his hair and readjusted his suit for the hundredth time, but he did not seem nervous so much as excited. Every opportunity to see Katherine was always cut too short, but now he could parade her around in the light of day, literally.

The boys straightened at the sound of footsteps on the hardwood floors above them. Katherine came first, almost covered from head to toe in red. Her gloves were made of the same black lace that covered her corset, and her curly brown hair was pulled up high with little, ruby-tipped pins. _Suggestive_, Elena had commented, but Katherine did not care. She wanted to evoke that intrigue in men. She wanted them to want her. She wanted them to fear how much they wanted her. What was "suggestive" to Elena was power to Katherine.

Elena was quite the opposite in lustrous purple fabric and white lace. She chose the widest skirt she had in her wardrobe to make sure that Damon could only come so close. That being said, she did not have much of a choice; the war had cut off Honoria Fell's usually constant supply of textiles from the north, so she could only deliver a few dresses to Elena and her aunt. The seamstress even showed the two a collection of old curtains, to see if they liked any of the fabric. Katherine would not have it, though Elena thought it was such a clever notion to make the old new again.

When Damon finally caught sight of her, he felt his breathing halt. Her sleeves bared her shoulders and he silently chastised himself when he found himself thinking about how it would feel to pull the fabric farther down her soft skin. She looked straight ahead, trying to look natural and feel her way down the steps. It was not a graceful effort, though nothing usually was when it came to her.

Even as she reached the bottom of the steps and Damon took her hand, her eyes remained forward. "You look beautiful," he said quietly.

"Mr. Salvatore," she said loudly. "If you have taught me anything, it is that I am beautiful. You say it so often, I almost wish to be ugly."

His smile never faltered. "The sun would sooner set forever."

She chanced a look at him for only a second, keeping the scowl steady on her face. He looked as handsome as always, his face earnest in spite of her callousness. It bothered her.

* * *

The party was already in full swing by the time they arrived. Of course there were the Founders and their families, other members of the council, and some of the more important citizens – doctors, shop owners, and the newspaper editor. It was quite the soirée.

Katherine tried to mask her annoyance at the heat. It was the middle of the day and Mayor Lockwood's home was filled with hot bodies. Even with the windows open, she could feel sweat gathering at the base of her neck. Whoever this mystery vampire was, he was becoming a sincerely large nuisance. She hiked the hoop of her heavy skirts up a little, hoping to stir the air around her legs.

Elena fanned herself furiously next to her, and the more annoyed she looked, the more obvious their relation to each other.

Just as she finished her first glass of champagne, Damon caught her eye. He stood at a respectable distance, but once she even barely acknowledged him, he approached. "Would you join me for a dance?"

She wanted so badly to say no, but he was her escort, after all. She silently offered her hand, lifting her nose at him. It was the waltz, so it should have been easy, but she struggled to keep up. Damon practically carried her throughout the dance, yet she still found herself stumbling against him.

"I will be leaving soon," he said to her dismay. "Will you still hate me then?"

"I don't hate you, of course."

"What if I call you beautiful?" he joked.

She sighed. "I am sorry for what I said, but you cannot imagine how it hurts me to think of your departure."

"I think I can."

She glared at him.

"It will bring honor to my family, Elena. It will bring honor to _you_."

"Honor is meaningless when you are dead."

"If you were a man, I would call you Falstaff."

"If you had the temperament, I would call you Hotspur."

He smiled gently, and she cursed herself for wearing such a large skirt. She needed him closer. Perhaps if she could wrap her arms around him tight enough then he would have to stay. "I told you, I was never given a choice."

"What about Stefan?" she asked, growing upset. "He's of age to enlist, is he not?"

"Father plans for him to become a doctor, and I would never wish this war upon my own brother."

"And what of our plans?"

Their dance halted for a moment. Damon's eyes were wide and Elena swallowed a lump of regret caught in her throat. They had never made any plans together. They only had what they individually imagined their futures to be like.

The song ended and she took a step back from him, offering a small curtsey.

Another man approached to ask for a dance, and Damon had to step back. _Let's run away tonight!_ he wanted to scream.

Elena spotted her brother dancing with Victoria Donavan across the room. He smiled happily as he led her gracefully in a circle, yet Victoria seemed uninterested. Her eyes jumped from person to person and she smiled, but they never stuck with Jeremy. If Elena's mind was not stuck on Damon, perhaps she would have thought more of it.

The party ended without incident, but as the sun threatened to set, the guests left in groups. Elena had danced with a number of men, and even Damon reappeared, but they could not find the words to speak. When John approached her to ask if she would be willing to leave early, she was all too happy to oblige. He held her arm on the way back. It was an odd act of affection, but she did not deny him. Instead she rested a hand on his, still wrapped in bandages.

Upon their return to the house, Elena offered a quiet and awkward goodnight to Damon before racing to her room. She pulled at her corset, begging her handmaid to unlace it as quickly as possible.

When she was sure the entire house had long been asleep, she moved from her bed. She took the long, silky dressing gown that was draped over a chair at her bedside and quickly slipped it on. Weary of any creaks on the wood floor, she moved stealthily and slowly down the hall. Candlelight came from underneath Katherine's door and Elena heard a giggle come from beneath it. Light came from under Damon's door as well and she realized the house was much more active at this time of night then she originally thought. She knocked lightly, but did not wait for him to answer before slipping in and shutting the door quickly.

Damon looked up at her, startled, from his desk. He had a piece of paper in front of him and a candle close enough so he could read or write, whichever he was doing.

Upon further examination, she realized he had not even changed out of his suit. His jacket was tossed across his made up bed, and his suspenders hung loosely at the sides of his legs. At that moment, she realized how severely underdressed she was. Damon could not help but to notice either. She stood before the candlelight coming from his dresser, and the curves of her slender body cast a shadow through her cotton nightgown.

He pulled her from the light, knowing she would be embarrassed if she realized how it looked. "Is something wrong?" he said.

"N-Yes. I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable earlier. I never should have assumed…"

"Assumed?"

"I should not have assumed," she continued, wishing she had never come, "that you intended for anything to happen between us. I do not want you to feel as though you must carry something on with me out of pity."

"You say you should not assume things about me, but aren't you assuming now?"

Her cheeks grew red. "I-I just realized I do not have any claim to you. I should not have pressured you, or questioned your father's decisions."

He moved forward, but stopped short just a foot away from her. "That is where you are wrong, Miss Elena. I do not wish for anyone else to claim me."

"I just... I felt I made a mistake when I mentioned our future earlier."

"You surprised me when you mentioned it, yes."

"Have you ever thought about it?" she asked softly.

"Our future?"

She nodded, and he finally closed the space between them. He wrapped one hand around her waist and brought the other up over her neck and into her hair. She sucked in a nervous breath. His eyes were wide and the curious blue enveloped her. He looked lost within her, but she felt lost within him. "I cannot see a future if you are not a part of it."

She broke into a wide smile, for she felt the same way. "I love you," she whispered. Neither of them had ever confessed that to each other before.

Adrenaline pulsed in his fingertips as he brushed them along her cheek. "I love you too."

They pulled each other closer and closer, until they were so close that they looked like one big, fat man. She giggled at the thought and tried to brush it out of her mind, but Damon was laughing too. They were laughing and kissing and Elena felt a true happiness blossoming in her chest that she had not felt since before her parents had died. She loved, and she was loved.

She pulled him down by the collar to the floor. For a moment, she worried that she might look silly with her unsteady and untrained hands tugging at the buttons of his shirt. _What am I doing? _she thought. But his lips were on her neck and his hands pressed on her waist and she didn't care. He laid back on the floor once he was free from his shirt, and she ran kisses along his neck and chest.

They were still laughing, allowing their hands to wander and reminding each other to keep quiet. Elena almost screamed when she saw the first bruise. Her wide eyes hovered over his stomach, her mouth braced to kiss him. He looked up to inspect, curious as to why she would stop. It had been so long since his last confrontation with his father that he had forgotten the bruises. They were yellowing from age, a sickly green in the middle. They were big, too. "Damon?" she whimpered.

"You mustn't tell."


	8. Soldiers

**Chapter Eight**

**Soldiers**

_Frederick County, Virginia_

_1864_

Mud devoured Damon's feet from beneath him. The muscles in his legs begged for reprieve, growing hotter and heavier with every forced step. He kept his head down, letting the sweat fall from his forehead and to the ground beneath him.

A hundred footsteps thundered in his ears. The men traveling alongside him were skeletal and sallow. Some were new recruits, like him, others were transferring to a new camp. A few, he noticed, were old, much too old for war. Then there were the young ones, even younger than Damon, with blemish covered faces and wide, fearful eyes. They were farmers, or sons of farmers, with hollow eyes and dirty faces. The war had already consumed the South's finest men, and Damon knew as well as anyone that he and everyone around him were a last resort.

He felt out of place. His uniform was brand new, purchased by his father before Damon even knew he was being sent away. The fabric of his coat was thick, stained only by sweat. His comrades were not so well put together. Most only donned a Confederate cap, or a pair of gray pants. Some even wore the colors of the north.

Sounds of life poured from over a hill in the distance and he knew they were not far off. The group dug their heals harder into the mud, eager to rest, but they faltered again as the smell found them. The putrid scent was an assault to the senses, unlike any man had ever experienced. Eyes watering, Damon forced himself forward, his stomach on the verge of spilling its contents. Groans of disgust rose into the air. "It's the sinks," called the man who led them. "You will _not_ get used to it.

_This is where I am meant to be_, Damon thought._ I am doing this for honor, glory, and adventure. I am doing this for my family. I am doing this for Elena._ All but the last words were hollow and his thoughts turned desperate as the smell grew stronger.

The camp was bigger than he imagined, though just as loud. Groups of men stood in lines upon lines, going on for as far as the eye could see. They moved almost in perfect synchronicity, repeating the same moves over and over. From atop the hill, he could see the thousands of mosquitos hovering above their prey like thick black nets. His lips turned down in a hard scowl.

Readjusting his haversack upon his shoulder, he silently followed the small group of men to meet the man in charge. They burrowed through miniature neighborhoods made of small white tents and passed lines of the drilling men.

His commanding officer was a compact man, built sleek and strong. Though his face was hidden behind a long-overgrown beard, his scowl was prominent beneath it. A long scar stretched up from his neck and onto his face, and his right eye was cloudy. "My name is Phineas," he barked. "My friends call me Finn, but you all can call me _Sir_. My father's name won' stop a bullet from tearin' me in two, so there's no reason for any of you to go on askin' me about it. Understand?"

Shifting uncomfortably, Damon dropped his sack to the ground at his side. His thoughts wandered to his own father, who was likely sitting by the fire and smoking a cigar. He and Stefan could live happily ever after now. _No_, a voice from within growled. _I am not so easy to dispose of_.

"You," Phineas continued, "will go by your last names until you're important enough to say otherwise."

The gun haphazardly shoved into Damon's shaky palms was not unlike the one he had shot a thousand times at home. The trigger was loose, threatening to fall off at moments notice. The handle was sticky too, he noted, though he preferred not to know why.

As ordered, he found a spot to set up his tent. The ground was wet, probably from the rain he had trudged through earlier in the day. Begrudgingly, he stacked the materials as sturdily as he knew how. The white fabric stood straight for a moment before buckling under a light breeze and crashing to the ground. Heat in his cheeks, he looked up to find a pair of eyes watching him.

The blue eyes, buried beneath a heavy brow, made no attempt to mask their amusement. The man attached was gangly, each of his limbs appearing to stretch for miles in every direction. He sat upon a crate, not ten feet away, a browning slab of apple in his hand and a saber sheathed at his hip. "I take it yer not a builder?" he laughed.

Damon sat back, dropping his new little home back to the ground. "Not in my whole life."

"You buttoned it wrong, and you'll want to lay that mat down first if you want to keep from getting wet."

Damon grabbed the oilcloth mat from his pack and inspected it. He had assumed it was just to keep him warm. "Are you a builder?" he asked.

"I've been at this for more'n two years," the man shrugged. "If I couldn't build a tent by now, I'd look a fool."

Damon nodded, standing back to evaluate his work. The structure was a little shaky, but it would do the job well enough. "Thank you," he said.

"I'm Alaric Saltzman, but everyone calls me Ric."

"You are important enough to go by Ric?"

"Certainly not important enough, but I've been here so long they'd call me Mary Beth if I asked." Damon laughed and Ric lifted his hat to brush back his greasy hair. His face was streaked with sweat and dirt... or possibly food. He wore a Confederate cap, but his trousers were dark blue. "What about you?"

"Damon," and then he paused when he realized that he'd given the wrong name. "Salvatore. Damon Salvatore."

* * *

Sleep eluded him just as it had every night leading to his departure. He lay on his back, his feet hanging from the mouth of his tent. A gust of wind shot up his legs and he ground his teeth together. When had it gotten so cold?

Adjusting the haversack beneath his head, he took a deep breath, willing the taste of dinner from his mouth. They called it salted pork, but it smelled green. The hard bread he was given, Ric called it "tack," masked the taste well enough. His mouth was still dry.

Turning over on his stomach, he buried his frozen hands beneath his torso. Images of Elena filled his brain. Her cheeks turning red in the afternoon sun. Her lips peeling back into a smile. Her arm, warm and wrapped around his.

Something stirred outside. _No_. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing away reality. A low voice, croaking like a frog, sang somewhere in the distance.

_"The hours sad I left a maid,_

_A lingering farewell taking..."_

He forced himself to think only of Elena. Her eyes, the same rich brown of her father's land. Her laugh, sweeter than music. Her head, bowed in prayer.

_"Whose sighs and tears my steps delayed,_

_I thought her heart was breaking..."_

Her nervous feet, tripping over each other. Her shoulders blossoming out of the top of her dress.

_"And to my heart in anguish pressed,_

_The girl I left behind me."_

Her long fingers, stroking his jaw. Her long lashes, heavy with sleep and illuminated by the light of a fire.

_"Then to East we bore away_

_To win a name in story..."_

Her back pressed into his chest. Her head on his shoulder. Her dark curls, brushing his face.

_"I shared the glory of that fight,_

_Sweet girl I left behind me."_

Her body, bare beneath her sleeping gown, aglow in the candlelight. Her hands on his stomach, his neck, in his hair.

_"The hope of final victory_

_within my bosom burning..."_

Her lips, soft and warm, caressing his. She smells like home. She is everywhere.

_"Is mingling with sweet thoughts of thee,_

_and of my fond returning..."_

Her silhouette shrinks in the frame of the wagons cover. She is too far away; he can no longer see her tears.

_"But should I ne'er return again,_

_Still with thy love I'll bind me."_

"Stay," she is begging. Her voice sounds far away.

_"Dishonors breath shall never stain_

_The name I leave behind me."_

* * *

The shout of a horn tore through the camp. Damon sat up quickly, images of Elena still bouncing around his brain just as they had every other night. It was the only way he could lull himself to sleep.

The light of dawn crept into his tent. His joints were stiff from the cold. He dragged himself outside, just as he did every morning. He folded his blanket, just as he did every morning. He plucked up the courage to face the latrines, just as he did every morning.

Winter was fast approaching, and the company was no longer mobile. He was grateful not to be on the move anymore, but food rations were sparse. He dug a small block of cheese from the bottom of his jacket pocket, nibbling on the corner as he made his way to Ric's corner of the camp. He strolled passed the camp's hospital tent, or the "morgue," as Ric called it.

The smell of carrion turned his stomach, and he shoved the cheese back in his pocket. From somewhere inside, a man was screaming, "Kill me! Just fucking kill me, you bitch!"

The sound followed him all the way to Ric's tent, though he did not seem to mind. "You hear that?"

Damon nodded.

"A couple o' boys caught break bone fever few days back. Hasn't been quiet since."

"How awful."

Ric rolled his eyes. "They're just bein' dramatic. They'll live. You heard about the boy up in Cold Harbor?"

"No."

"Friend o' mine told me he knew a boy who took a bullet in the leg. Says he could'a lived, but someone else's bones got dragged into the wound."

Damon felt himself turn green. "What do you mean?"

"Just what I said! It happens sometimes; a bullet will go straight through one person and into the next. Usually brings something along, you know, teeth, bones, a bit of fabric..."

"So, this boy died?"

"I hear they sawed his leg off, but he just bled out."

It was almost too much. Damon went quiet after that, leaving Ric to clean his saber, as he often did. "Have you ever used that?" he asked.

Ric held the blade up to the sunlight, looking for imperfections. "Not yet."

"Why not?"

"Haven't got the chance."

* * *

Boredom was never something Damon expected to suffer once he left home. He imagined gunfire and screaming and sweat and tears. Instead, he woke up at the same time every morning, ate the same food every afternoon, and drilled every evening. The men of his battalion were so in sync that one could offer a handkerchief before another sneezed, that is, if anyone even carried one.

He also found himself growing vulgar as the weeks passed, though it was hard not to considering the men around him. Words riddled with smut slipped between his lips without a thought, and he was always caught wondering what his father would say if he could hear him.

His companions, though once he might have thought beneath him, he now admired. They told stories of traveling through friendly territory in the south, and he listened with the utmost interest and sincerity. "I saved a gal from a stray bullet back in Mississippi," one said.

"There's a whore on every corner in Richmond!" said another.

"Be careful of those types," Ric warned. "They'll make you think that they're stealing your heart when they're really just wrapping those pretty little fingers around your coin purse."

"Watch out for an adventuress with a pretty face. They're angels at night and devils in the morning… or the other way around if you prefer."

"I never met a blonde who didn't break me like a horse!"

"If you're any good, I hear they'll give it to ya' for free!"

Comments like those used to make Damon go red in the face, but not anymore. He rather enjoyed listening to the men's usually drunken escapades, though he never had any stories to tell for himself.

One afternoon, as he was chewing on some salted pork, which he decided was not so horrible if he did not breath through his nose, a man named Luka came to sit by him. The group huddled close to ward off the cold, an orchestra of coughs coming from them. Luka was short and bone-thin, bald everywhere but his overgrown chin. "I had five in one night," he bragged.

"Bullshit," Ric laughed.

"It's true!"

Their was a collective noise of disbelief among the group.

"I only paid for two!" Luka went on.

Damon laughed, and his lungs began to quake. He coughed until he was retching through a layer of mucus.

Luka smacked him on the back. "What about you, kid?"

"Me?" he choked.

"Got any stories to warm us up?"

Damon could not conjure even a dream of laying with a prostitute. He almost felt nauseous at the idea, but then it might just have been the phlegm. How could he touch anyone that was not Elena? Most of these men had women at home, he supposed, but maybe they did not care.

"He's only been here a couple of weeks," Ric cut in. "There's not a whore for miles."

A man named Jonas cackled across from Damon. "And if there was, Luka would have snatched her up for _free_!"

The men rocked back and forth, hooting and hollering. Luka scowled. "Well, then, you got a girl back home?"

_Back home?_ he wondered. Was she really so far away? She was captive in his heart, behind his sleeping eyelids. When he stood guard late at night he imagined her sitting with him, her head on his shoulder. She was wearing that dress that he loved, though long gone in the fire, the lavender one with puffed sleeves that fell off her shoulders. She smelled like flowers… or maybe honey. She would smell like anything that was not what he smelled at that moment, he decided. When he marched in a line he imagined her marching around next to him, laughing as though it were all just a silly game. When they carried off the bodies of men who had died of sickness, she walked alongside them and mourned though they were unknown to her.

He had forgotten that she was not really there.

Nine pairs of eyes stared at him, hungry for an answer. They did not want to hear any of that. No, they wanted a detailed account of her conquest. He frowned.

Torn between lying and telling the truth, he bit his tongue. He could tell them stories of some false girl, whose skin he had never touched; or seen; or even dreamed about. Or he could suffer the embarrassment of candor, and tell them of the girl back home, who he loved more than anything. He opened his mouth to speak, but a shriek cut him off before he could get a word out. "Mail call!"

Heads all around the camp perked up, eager to hear from home. Anxiety settled in Damon's stomach as it did every time mail was delivered. He still had not received anything, though he wrote home everyday. "Takes a while for the packages to travel," Ric had explained.

The men spread out as they received their mail, ducking into private places. Just as Damon was sure that he was not to receive anything once more, someone called out, "Salvatore!" from the distance.

He jumped to his feet. "Here!" he shouted. The courier who called him shoved the heavy wooden crate into his arms with a disgruntled sigh. "Thank you," Damon gasped, swallowing glee.

He trudged back to his tent to open it. Tossing the lid to the side, he grabbed the first thing his fingers touched: a stack of letters, tied together by string. The first was from his brother, scribbled neatly on his own stationary. A gift from their father, Damon presumed. It spoke of how things were well enough at home, though another girl had gone missing just after Damon left. Stefan wished him well, asked for a swift reply, and finished with, "_Father sends his well wishes_."

"Bullshit," Damon muttered.

The next letter was from Elena, and he knew it from the moment its perfumed pages opened to him.

_Damon_, it read.

_I hope this package reaches you in good condition. By that, I mean that I hope that the peaches have not rotted and you are still alive._

_I read you letters over and over with the utmost eagerness. Please forgive me for not corresponding with as much enthusiasm - the price of postage has gone up and John fears I will bleed him dry if I try to write you everyday. Instead, I have included all of my letters en masse. Please do not read them all at once. I worry that I will bore you._

_Just as every other day, I woke up this morning and readied myself, though slowly, for I am sick with melancholy over your departure. Snow finally fell in the night, and John ceaselessly complains of his sore joints. I denied breakfast, for my appetite has deserted me and been replaced with worry. Jeremy and I walked earlier, but it was much too cold and we were forced to retreat inside._

_I wish I could tell you something more exciting._

_My Aunt Katherine and your brother are getting on rather well, I noticed. Though I have no evidence to prove it,I suspect they are smitten with each other. The moment the thought struck me, my first inclination was to tell you._

_Are you well? Watching the snow fall, I worried for you all through the night. I hope you are warm and well fed. What do they feed you there? Please, tell me everything. Spare no details. I wish to feel as though I am right there next to you._

_Elena_

He ran his fingers over her perfect, elongated handwriting and his heart grew heavy.

He tucked the other letters inside his oilcloth mat to protect it from the weather. There was three from Elena for every one of Stefan's, and none from his father, he noticed. As requested, he vowed to only read one a day. That way he could hear from her every day.

Aside from the letters, the crate also held a Mystic Falls newspaper, a copy of _The Woman in White_, clean socks, stationery, and a bounty of food. His eyes stung upon seeing it all. A little sack of homemade candy sat upon a bigger sack of the aforementioned peaches. He could picture her handpicking the apples that she baked into the three little pies that lined the bottom of the crate. A bottle of whiskey glared at him from the corner. She must have traded her left arm to get it.

Wondering how he would ever eat it all, he stared into the box for a moment longer. He grabbed the whiskey and shoved it to the bottom of his bedroll before dragging the crate outside once more.

Ric was hunched over a letter of his own when Damon found him. "What have you got there?" he asked.

Damon set the crate down before him. "I thought you might like to share with me."

Without a word, Ric's hand shot into the box, digging out a piece of lemon cake. He shoved the whole thing in his mouth, happy tears in his eyes. Damon sat next to him, taking one for himself.

"I don't know who you got waitin' on you at home," Ric breathed, his mouth still full, "but tell her that I'll marry her if she's sick of waitin' on you."

Damon laughed. "Didn't you get anything?

"Just a letter. I guess my old lady got bored of sending me packages like _that_."

"I'm sure she just wanted to make my first package special."

"So it is a she?"

Damon grinned.

"Lucky dog."

They dug around for a while longer, laughing and sharing Damon's gift with a few others. He felt warmer with his belly full and Elena's words in his head. Almost asleep, he was wrenched awake by Ric's voice. "Who's that?" he said.

Damon peaked at him through the slits in his eyes, but no one was looking at him. The men were huddled around Ric, who held something in his hands. Damon leaned forward from his place against the stump of a tree, eager to see what they were looking at.

His stomach jumped when he saw them, Elena's dark brown eyes, looking up at him from the photograph.

"Who's that?" Ric said again.

Damon snatched the picture from him. Elena smirked up at him, frozen in his hand. She looked so serene. _So far away_, he thought. He almost could not bear to look at it.

"Elena," he sighed.


	9. Disclosure

**Chapter Nine**

**Disclosure**

_Mystic Falls, Virginia_

_1864_

The chill of winter penetrated the hearts of the Mystic Falls' residents just as it had the innermost area of Virginia, and paranoia blanketed them like a sickness. Nobody believed an animal was terrorizing them, not anymore. The Founder's Council had no answers to give the public. "Stay indoors after sundown," was all they had to offer. Everyone preferred to stay inside all the time.

Katherine peeked at Stefan in the reflection of her floor-length mirror, taking the braids out of her hair. He wasn't looking at her, but out of the window and into the night. Every few seconds, the glass in front of his face would fog up from his breath. "It is snowing," he murmured.

"Good," she said. "There will be fewer people on the street."

"As if you care," he smirked, looking back at her.

She sauntered over to him, shrugging her robe off of her shoulders and onto the floor. "The more havoc in Mystic Falls, the sooner I will have to leave."

His fingers went cup her face. "No."

"Yes."

He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into him, kissing her roughly. Indulging him for only a moment, she used both hands to push him away and held him by the straps of his suspenders. "How is your father doing?"

"My father?" He took a moment to catch his breath, trying to focus. Of all the things he was thinking of, his father had not been one of them. "He has a troupe of strangers living in his home, and now his first-born son is off to war."

"You and I both know he is not concerned by either of those things."

"He suspects a vampire set fire to the Gilbert's home." He scowled down at her.

"Now, now," she purred. "I only did that so we could be together, remember?"

Chills ran down his spine and he stepped closer to her. He like that she wanted him.

"They only have their vervain and wooden stakes."

She was soothed by that thought. "You know I could not survive this place without you." _Lie_, her voice screamed from within. She pressed into him, forcing his feet backwards into the window. Little bumps formed on his skin from the cold. She slid his shirt open and kissed him gently, starting at his chest and working her way up to his neck.

When she looked up, her reflection was clouded in the window by the condensation surrounding him. He ran his hands over her sides and back hungrily, but she could feel him brace when she gently ran her tongue over a smooth spot of skin on his neck. He did not make a sound when she clamped down on him, and warm blood flowed freely into her mouth.

Stefan raised a hand to her arm, and she knew he was growing uncomfortable, but she needed just a second longer. It would have been a minute if an unusual noise had not caught her attention. She smacked an unintentionally rough hand over his mouth and shoved him into the wall next to her, listening intently. He held a hand to his neck and slid down the wall.

The noise came again. A moan, she thought, or perhaps a groan. A stick broke beneath someone's foot and her glare flew back to the window. "Stay here," she commanded, opening the latches on the window. He could not even look up to see her jump from the window.

Her bare feet landed silently. A shuttered breath rattled in the air and a heart beat faintly. Katherine turned the corner, spotting a hooded figure hovering above a pale figure on the ground. A territorial growl tore through her throat, her fangs unsheathing from the corners of her mouth.

The figure fled, moving faster than the human eye could see. Katherine made to follow until she caught the familiar scent before her. "Jeremy?" she said.

Lifeless and pale, he lay spread out upon the ground. The once faint heartbeat was gone. "Jeremy?" she whispered in a panic, falling to her knees beside him. No pulse, no heartbeat, no breath. He was nothing but a shell. A silver gleam came off his hand, and she breathed a sigh of relief. He wore the ring she gave him. He would live. In his other hand was a crumbled sheet of paper. _Victoria_, it said.

_I long to see you. Please meet me in the square tomorrow at noon._

_J_

"Idiot," Katherine sighed.

"Katherine?" Stefan called from the window. "Is everything well?"

Rolled her eyes, she took Jeremy into her arms. His head rolled back over her elbow, staining her sleeping gown red. "Come open the front door," she called back.

She was at the door long before he was. Leaves stirred in the breeze behind her and she threw her head over her shoulder, the veins under her eyes prickling. A growl rose in her throat.

Stefan wrenched the door open, blood still soaking his shirt. She willed him with her eyes not to make a sound. "Go get Elena," she ordered.

As directed, he turned towards the stairs. A gust of wind blew past him and she was already up in Jeremy's room, stripping the shoes from his feet.

Elena shuffled into the room sleepily, followed by a breathless Stefan. "Katherine?" she yawned. "Is something wrong?"

"Sit," Katherine ordered. "_You are very awake, and you are calm._"

Elena's spine curved inside of her and a serene smile swept across her face. In contrast, her eyes were wide and present. "Yes, ma'am."

"_Your mind is open to me_. _There is no fear in your heart, not for me and not for what I am about to tell you._"

Elena nodded.

Katherine laid her head in her hands, air hissing out between her fingers. "Stefan," she said quietly.

He jumped to her side. "Yes, what can I do?"

Her eyes were unfeeling when she lifted them from her hands. "_Be quiet._"

His lips drew together in a hard line, but before he could settle into the chair behind him, her hands roughly gripped his shoulders. Brown eyes met blue and he drowned in her words as they came. "_You never saw me this evening. The weather left you feeling ill, so you went straight to bed after dinner. You were in bed, on the verge of sleep, when you heard a noise outside. A scream. You peaked out of your window to investigate. There was a figure, giant and veiled in black. You thought it was an animal, and you went to scare it off. You opened the door and stepped outside for only a moment, but you were attacked. You barely escaped to the safety of the house, and the beast fled_."

Stefan's eyes stared blankly ahead of him. Images sprung forth in his mind as the false memories became true within himself. His sheets, warm beneath his back, turning cold as he stands to view the window. A crack, or a shout, rings out from outside. He turns from the window and stalks down the hall, passing Katherine's bedroom, sealed shut with her inside. The knob of the front door turns beneath his fingers and he steps out into the frigid night air. Something moved to his left and then he was grabbed from his right.

Ignoring the lost look in his eyes, Katherine grabbed him once more andpierced the already bloody skin of his neck, tearing into his shoulder until he was sure he would lose his head.

She brought him back to face her, though he was lost in her compulsion.

"Alert your father," her voice called to him. "Quickly. _You are afraid_."

His eyes widened and sweat broke out along his upper lip. Katherine quietly shut the door behind him before busying herself with cleaning Jeremy's wound. She tore the fabric of his shirt loudly across his chest and over his arms, ripping it from beneath him and tossing the shreds to the floor.

"We will need a new set of sheets," she murmured, mostly to herself. "These are ruined."

"I do not understand," Elena said.

Katherine took the pillow from its case and tossed the stained lump to the floor. Blowing a stray hair from her face, she shoved the balled up fabric of the case back to his neck. A door slammed from somewhere in the house and footsteps scattered across the floor. She froze as the light of a candle flickered by the door. They sat quietly in the darkness until the commotion passed. "He's too young," she said. "Surely they would not ask him to help."

"Who? Help with what?"

Katherine wiped her mouth on a piece of Jeremy's shirt. "Put his shoes away," she ordered.

As told, Elena delicately took the shoes from by the bed and set them in their place by the door. "We should wake Jeremy up, don't you think?"

"He cannot."

Elena sighed, looking fondly down at her brother's corpse. "He _is_ rather a heavy sleeper. The trick is to hold his nose." She pinched the tips of his fingers over his nose, but he remained still. Doors slammed from below and shouts filled the quiet house. "I should get a blanket. He feels so cold."

"He's dead, Elena."

The words hit her like a puff of air. Something within her stirred, the ghost of a feeling, but it took no roots in her belly. "How do you mean?"

"I mean exactly what I said: he cannot wake because he is dead."

She looked down at him, the tranquility within weighing her down like laudanum. Sweat was still frozen in the tips of his hair, slowly melting and dripping down his round cheeks. His chest was still, never rising, never falling. "Jeremy?"

"He cannot hear you."

"Jeremy," she said again, a little louder, but still patient.

Katherine grabbed her roughly by the elbow, throwing Elena down on the bed next to her. "Do you know about the Founder's Council?"

"The Founder's Council?"

"Do you know why they were created?"

A lie hovered in Elena's throat, for she was never supposed to know about the Council or vampires or anything of the sort.

"_Be honest._"

"Yes," she blurted.

"Tell me."

"They are hunting vampires."

Katherine nodded. "Do you know what a vampire is?"

"Ancient beasts who feed on human blood."

For a moment Katherine wondered how she could know any of this, then she thought of Stefan, who was not only disclosing the information from Council meetings to her, but likely his brother. Of course Damon would tell her whatever she wanted to know. "I wonder if you know any of them."

"Who?"

"Vampires. I wonder if you have ever come across one."

Elena thought seriously for a moment. Had she really met a vampire and not even known it? Katherine's eyes gleamed in the light of the moon, and Elena saw something flicker in her face. "You," she blurted, and she realized she might have known all along."

To her surprise, Katherine smiled, and there was a wickedness about it that made Elena shiver. Vampires were unlike any beast she had imagined. They were not covered in fur or shrouded in darkness, as she had imagined. They were anthropomorphic, and beautiful, if her aunt was any representation. Worse, Katherine seemed to revel in it. The very word, "Vampire," brought joy to her face. The only question was whether the monster was more in love with her curse or her self.

"You are the one," Elena said, still calm. "_You_ took those people."

Katherine rolled her eyes. "No_._"

"Who, then?"

"If I knew, we would not be in this predicament."

Elena glanced at her brother, passive sadness growing inside of her. "The vampire got him? He is really dead?"

"Worry not," Katherine soothed. "You remember your ring? How I told you to always wear it?"

Elena glanced guiltily down at her bare finger, for she thought it more of an eyesore than a suitable accessory. The ring sat, long forgotten, at the bottom of a drawer in her wardrobe.

"The ring has protected him from death, though he has to bear all of the suffering, I suppose."

"He will come back?"

"Soon."

Elena sat back, sadness growing in her eyes. "If you are a vampire, then my mother was, as well? Am _I _a vampire?"

Katherine laughed, almost too loudly. "Your mother and I are not truly sisters. I have been alive for a long time, long before she was even a glimmer in her mother's eye."

"Do vampires have children? You are my great grandmother, or something to that affect?"

A sourness spread across her lips and her eyes flashed red. "No."

"Please, I do not understand."

Biting the inside of her cheek, Katherine glared at the floor. "When I was young, I had a child. I was still human, you see. My family was deeply ashamed of me. I remember my father threatened to shove a knife in my belly just to kill it." Her lips turned downward. "My sister shielded me from his blade."

Elena tried unsuccessfully to picture her own father, so meek and gentile, baring a knife to her skin. "You had a sister?"

Her eyes elsewhere, Katherine nodded. "A half-sister. Her mother was my father's first wife. Her name was Tatia. With her help, I bore a daughter in the summer. I gave her the name Nadia."

"And what happened then?"

"I never saw her again."

"Your father took her?"

"I never knew."

Something dark grew behind Katherine's eyes, telling Elena that she might have been lying. She imagined having a child of her own and never even holding it. Her eyes grew misty. "That's terrible."

"I was exiled once it was all over. I found out later that Nadia had gone on to marry. She only had one child, and that child had a child, and so on." A ghost of a thought passed behind Katherine's eyes and she pursed her lips. "And here you are."

"That is why you are here, then? You are here to protect us?"

There was a pause. "Blood is important to me, Elena. In more ways than one. I've followed my bloodline for generations."

Elena could not understand, but she assumed one's mind must be changed when they die. A vampire's motives were not hers to understand.

"You mustn't tell anyone," Katherine whispered. "You may hate me, you may think I am a monster, but _you will never utter it to anyone_."

Elena blinked. "I do not hate you."

Katherine considered her words for a moment, and genuinely wondered if the meek girl before her was even capable of such a strong emotion. Her eyes turned red and she felt the veins below swell. "Do you fear me?"

"You told me not to."

* * *

The sun crept up the white walls as it rose in the sky. Elena watched so intently that she was sure she could see it move. She still sat at the foot of Jeremy's bed, his cold foot in her warm hand. "Be patient and he will wake," Katherine had said just before she left. "If anyone asks, tell them Jeremy fell ill in the night and should not be disturbed until he has gotten some rest. Emily will come with clean sheets as soon as she can."

Elena felt distant from herself, like there was a disconnect between her thoughts and emotions. She felt eerily calm, though she sat alongside her dead brother. _What do you know?_ she asked herself. _My name is Elena Gilbert. I am human. My brother is Jeremy. He is dead. My aunt, no my ancestor, Katherine, is a vampire. She murders people, or she has, but not in Mystic Falls. She protects me. She protected my mother. I do not understand what a vampire is, or _why_ a vampire is. They feed on humans. My family wants them dead. I do not know if I want them dead because I do not know if I want Katherine to be dead. I have to protect her secret. I mustn't tell._

The last three words hung in her head and she thought of Damon. Images of the yellowed bruises drifted behind her eyes. It was her last memory of being with him, stained with humiliation. She had apologized so many times that her voice grew horse. "No, I am sorry," he had said. "I had almost forgotten they were there."

The few times she saw him afterwards, they were never alone. She wanted to scream, or cry, to ensure he was well. Her first thought was that he got them from roughhousing with his brother, or maybe he had been working in the stables. She had not given them a second thought until his panicked eyes met hers and he said those three words. "You mustn't tell."

Giuseppe Salvatore was not the man she had once thought. Every time she saw him now, she could not stand to look at his ugly face.

She reached into the pocket of her robe and grabbed the piece of paper tucked into the bottom. It was worn and crinkled from being folded and refolded, and she opened it delicately. Damon had scratched his words quickly in grainy, black ink.

_Elena,_

_I cannot tell if it is the cold weather or that you are gone from my sight, but everything is bleak now. I hope my letter will make you smile as greatly as yours made me. Opening your package was like unleashing the sun in this dreary place. Thank you so much for everything you sent me. Every little piece of you was more than I deserve. I hope you do not mind, as my first inclination was to share your gifts with the company. I think they might love you almost as much as I do after tasting your apple pies. In my next package, could you send a sewing kit?The hem of my jacket is already torn, but worry not, it was only caught on the branch of a tree. Everything is well here. We are fed almost as well as we are in our own homes. The nights are a little cold, but we are given a bounty of blankets to stack on top of ourselves. I am still safe, my love. I hope you will tell me the same. I do not have time to write any further. They drill us until my muscles cannot remember how to do anything else, but I still must go back. Thank you again, Elena, my sunshine. Please write soon._

_All of my love,_

_Private Damon Salvatore_

_19th Reg. Va. Co. A., Army of No. Va., CSA_

The door opened behind her and she jumped, brushing fresh tears from her eyes. She shoved the paper back in her pocket quickly and spun around. Giuseppe Salvatore stood in the doorway, and her stomach turned just looking at him. She raised a finger to her lips and held a hand up so he would not come any closer. "He was up all night," she whispered. "He had a fever until early this morning."

"You did not call for a doctor?" he whispered back.

"I heard shots and screams. I was afraid want to leave the room."

He nodded. "Iam sorry. There was a… burglar."

She pretended to believe him. "Then I should be glad to have stayed hidden here."

"Yes, it was safer for you."

"Did you catch him?" Elena asked.

"Who?"

"The burglar?"

"Oh! No, he... escaped."

"Oh, dear."

"He will be caught soon enough." His eyes turned to Jeremy once again and Elena tried to position herself in his line of sight. "Should I call a doctor for him now?"

"His fever is gone. He is just resting." Katherine would be proud; Elena had never lied so much in her life.

"You are sure?"

"I think the cold just got him."

He sighed. "If you say so." There was a moment between them where they only could stare at each other. The silence reflected on the awkward encounter as a whole, but Elena was not thinking of that at all. Rage burned in her stomach and she tried to suck it down, but she still felt her cheeks growing red. "Has Damon written?"

"Of course." She bit her cheek.

"I assume he has not seen battle then?"

"Not yet, but of course you know as much as I, if not _more_. I would assume the father of a soldier would be the most eager to write to him."

His mouth turned down in a hard line, but her wide eyes never faltered in portraying her naiveté. Without another word, he left, and her face turned up in disgust. It was bewildering to think that man and Damon could be related.

She sat back down and took the letter from her pocket once more, folding it carefully. It was then that Jeremy sat up with a start, lifting his hand to his neck. The wound was gone, but he could still feel a burning pinch on the spot where he was bitten. "Elena?" he gasped.

A smile erupted over her face and she dove for him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. "Thank God," she breathed.

"What happened?"

She hesitated, remembering what her aunt had said. "Katherine will explain."


	10. Rose

**Chapter Ten**

**Rose**

_Frederick County, Virginia_

_1864_

Damon kept his eyes fixed on the ground as he and thousands of others from mixed companies marched. It was late at night and he had been walking for four hours straight. He had blisters forming on his heels and his muscles begged him to pause for just a moment, but he kept moving. He was almost grateful to finally be going somewhere after being still for so long.

As always, he found himself trying to find balance on the slippery mud the men left behind. The echoes of footsteps rang all around him, but he could not see far past the fog.

"Is that not a bad omen?" Damon wondered out loud.

"What?" Ric replied, his breathing loud.

"The fog."

"What about it?"

"I don't know… the fog… the crows… It is unsettling."

"You should be grateful for the cover," Ric huffed. "The Yanks will never see us coming."

Damon nodded, his eyes returning to the ground, but he was not comforted. They were only marching this late in order to sneak up on their enemy, and fog did provide a good cover. Still, he had a strange feeling that danger lurked in the horizon.

"You're just nervous about your first fight, kid."

"How much longer do you think we have to march?"

Ric shrugged, "This is the farthest I've ever gone before. It won't be long, now."

There was too much fog to clearly see what lay in the distance, but if they were drawing near, then the officers would have put them in order. Now, the men walked where they felt comfortable and talked freely if they were not too tired. "Maybe the Cap knows."

Disobedient to his own burning muscles, Damon picked up his pace in order to catch up with Captain Phineas, who rode on a horse far ahead of them. He heard Ric groan, but Damon knew he was following from the sound of his canteen clanking against his belt buckle.

Phineas looked elegant on a horse, even beneath the dirt. He held himself with an air of confidence and sophistication beyond the haggard men around them. Damon hoped he would look like that at the end of his service. "Sir?" he huffed.

"Yes?"

"How much longer is it going to be?"

"We'll be getting into formation any time now. Do you think you can make it?"

"Of course. I was just curious."

Phineas looked down at him, his eyes suspicious. "I wonder about you sometimes, Salvatore."

"What is there to wonder at?"

"Look around you. You stick out."

Damon frowned. He was just beginning to think he was starting to look like a real soldier. His face was often unshaven and there were bags under his eyes from the lack of sleep. He was often sick from the cold and his cheeks were sinking in from a poor diet. Long before, he stopped wearing his entire uniform because it was too heavy, and everything was covered in dirt. His hair was even shaggier than usual and often fell in front of his eyes. How could he stick out? He felt sunken in. "What do you mean?"

"Don't take offense, private. I don' mean it like that." There was a moment of silence, and Phineas let out an annoyed sigh. "Boys with names and fathers like yours don' end up among men like these. Your father is well connected, so it's odd that you ended up _here_."

"Where should I have ended up?"

"I was a courier when I first joined, thanks to my father."

"Are you saying I should have been a messenger?"

"I'm not saying anything."

"He's sayin' you shouldn't be up on the front lines with the likes of me," Ric grunted.

An awkward silence came over the three men as Damon pondered their words. It had never even occurred to him that his father had any control over where he was. His father could not have known either, of course.

Ric fiddled with something inside the frayed pocket of his coat. "Damn thing," he muttered.

"What's that?"

With a disgruntled sigh, Ric slipped a ball of pink string and a needle out of his pocket. The string was wrapped around a crumpled piece of paper, so riddled with holes Damon almost could not read the script on its face.

_Private Alaric Jedediah Saltzman III._

_19th Virginia Regiment, Co. A., Army of Northern Virginia, CSA_

_If found, please return my coat and pocket watch to my wife,_

_Jennifer Noel Saltzman_

_in Boston, Massachusetts._

_Thank you._

"Boston?" Damon said.

"My daddy was from Texas," Ric smirked. He took the needle and string, looping it in and out of the paper before sewing it on the inside of his jacket. "Jenna sent me away with this when I left a couple of years back. Told me she wasn't gonna wait around like a fool if I was lyin' in a ditch somewhere."

Damon grimaced.

"I think it's lucky," Ric went on. "Haven't gotten hardly a scratch all these years."

Shouts filtered towards them from ahead and the company began tightening their lines. "Get in formation, boys," Phineas called. He dug the backs of his heels into his horse's side and raced off. There was no more time to talk.

The fog seemed to grow almost as thick as smoke as Damon moved forward, and he kept reminding himself that it was a good thing. With each passing second, the footsteps slowly fell in to the same step and the unanimous clamor of a thousand men was all to be heard. Ric finished securing his note in place before adjusting the rifle on his shoulder.

Heartbeat quickening, Damon swallowed a hard lump in his throat. He yearned for the monotony that he had once so dreaded. Wake up, scavenge for something to eat, drill, drill, drill, sleep, wake up, repeat. Not a day ago he resented it. His eyes shifted from the faces he could partially see around him, hoping he to find the same anxiety on someone else's face. They all looked blank, featureless, but when he thought about it, he realized he was making a conscious effort to look calm too.

_Honor. Glory. Adventure. Family. Elena. Honor. Glory. Adventure. Family. Elena. Honor. Glory. Adventure. Family. Elena. Elena. Elena. Elena._

The words dominated his thoughts. Elena would still be asleep at the moment. She would be warm under the same thick quilts he had slept under since he was young. She was safe, and the thought of her peace calmed him.

Gripping his weapon tighter to his chest, he took a deep breath. "I've forgotten what to do," he gasped.

Ric smacked a hand on his shoulder, falling out of step with the others for a moment. "Aim low. Don't let you bullets pass over the bastard's heads."

Damon nodded, and for the first time he wondered if he would be able to see a man's face and pull the trigger. He was never one for hunting, even. When he was eleven, he had put a horse down with his father's rifle, and had nightmares about it ever since.

His thoughts were shattered by the sounds of men shouting, and a low buzzing coming from ahead. Sweat fell from his hair and down his jaw. Why were his feet moving forward still? Why did he continue to walk? Death surely loomed ahead of him, and all he knew was that he did not want to die.

Stepping into the Yankee camp was like falling into a great hornet's nest, bullets buzzing angrily through the air. Damon looked to Ric for instruction, but he found himself suddenly alone and more fearful than ever. He fell to the ground, crawling to safety behind and old stump of a tree. A bullet ricocheted off the thick bark just as he came to rest in the cold grass, hugging his rifle to his chest. "Please, God," he heard himself say. "Please, let me live."

Across the way, he spotted a young man creeping through a patch of weeds. His coat was dark blue and his face was full. Just as Damon had done a hundred times at camp, he raised his rifle to his shoulder. Without instruction, his arms seemed to take over. His shoulders braced, his fingers tensed, the trigger clicked, and a loud crack erupted from his gun. The man stumbled for a moment before falling to the dirt.

Damon stared at the spot where he had stood, his ears ringing and hot. _Again_, came a voice from within. Mechanically, he stood a little taller, aiming his rifle at a group of blue coats. His mind was blank and he lost count of how many shots he fired.

The sound of Ric's triumphant crow caught his attention and he turned just in time to catch him duck behind an old table. He made to join him, when he saw another man in a blue coat creeping up behind the table. Damon shouted, drawing the soldier's attention as he raised his weapon, both weapons went off simultaneously, but Damon was the only one to fall.

There was a jolt in his abdomen, almost like a punch. A second later, pain followed and his vision went black for a moment. It felt like someone lit a fire in his stomach and all he could do was lay there and burn. There was another shot, and Damon wanted to cry out for his friend.

He looked up into the new morning sky, breathing heavy. There was blood on the grass beneath him, likely more than just his. Just a few feet away from his extended hand was a bloodied torso with just one arm and one leg. _Where did his limbs go?_ he thought absently. His vision went black for a moment and he felt warmth spreading across his legs and belly.

"Kill me!" someone shouted in the distance. "Please, kill me!"

"Damon," huffed another voice. Ric's face came to his mind but he did not see him. "Damon," he said again. "Are you hurt, brother?"

_Yes,_ he thought. He no longer felt warm. Pain, dull at first and then suddenly sharp, tore through his insides. The sweat above his lip was cold and every ragged breath he took seem to rock the bullet inside of him like a ship at sea.

Greasy fingers grasped his face and he could feel his eyelids being pulled upward. Faint light hit his pupils. "I hear you breathing," Ric said. "Can you hear me?"

Damon dragged his eyelids open. "It hurts," he choked. "How do I make it stop?"

Another angry hornet flew by and Ric tucked his head into Damon's shoulder. "Don't think of that," he ordered, looking around him. "Think of something good. What about Rose? You remember her?"

Long, brown ringlets shook with laughter in his memory. He saw big, brown eyes with long lashes. _Rose?_ he thought. _No, that is not her name._

"She took you to her room, you remember? She wore that pretty red dress and smelled like fine perfume. C'mon, I'll never forgive a man who forgets a woman as pretty as that."

Then he saw the woman for a moment, but how could he know her? "Who is she?"

Ric grunted, almost like a laugh. "Damn, kid. Did 'ya get shot in the head? I took you to Fell's Church, remember?"

_Yes,_ he thought.

* * *

He was laying in his tent, praying that he would wake up dry. "Wake up!" came a voice, grabbing him by the ankles and ripping him out into the cool night air. He was already praying that whoever it was would kill him quickly, when his face finally met Ric's, flashing a booze-soaked grin. Damon wrestled his way out of his grip, crying "Bastard!" as he fell backwards into the dirt. He had been so scared it didn't even occur to him that his father would have his mouth sewn shut if he heard him using that kind of language.

"Come on, kid," Ric said, unbothered, "ain't got the time to throw fits, now."

Damon rubbed the side of his arm. "You did not have to be so rough."

Ric rolled his eyes at the gesture and pulled him to his feet by the bruised spot. "I don't listen to anyone whine unless it's because someone's corset is too tight and they're just dying to get out of it. Now, grab that bottle of whiskey you're hiding and let's go."

"Where are we going?" Damon asked as Ric began to pull him in to the dark line of the trees that bordered the camp.

"Shh," Ric insisted.

Damon did as he was told and lowered his head to the ground to make sure he didn't fall. The liquor sloshed around inside its glass and he was sad to have to use it. He'd been drinking a little every night to help him fall asleep, but if he knew Ric, that wasn't going to be an option anymore. Once they were a safe distance from the camp, Ric slowed and Damon heard voices. He grabbed for his pistol, but Ric only relaxed. "You ever been out this late?" he asked.

Damon shook his head no. "Where would I go? Nothing is open."

Ric laughed, a little too loud, and shook his head, but before Damon could repeat his question, they were approaching a group of men standing by a tree. It took a moment, but Damon realized that all of them were from camp too. "You get the horses?" Ric asked.

A short man who was eyeing the bottle in Damon's hand nodded. "Tied 'em up on the outskirts o' the woods."

Damon squared his shoulders as he prepared to ask one more time, agreeing with himself that if he didn't receive an answer, then he would stop asking. "Where are we going?"

"Fell's Church," Ric explained, "is a town just a few miles away from here. I try to go there at least once every time we stay in Frederick's."

"What do you go there for?"

Damon looked around gingerly as all of the men began to snicker. _Have they brought me here as a trick?_ he thought. "I do not understand," he said out loud.

"Don't worry, kid." Ric chuckled. "Once you see it, you won't need to understand."

Ric was right. At first, he was terrified the men had brought him along just to leave him and make a fool out of him in front of the officers. The town was quiet, though dimly lit by burning lanterns and candles that occasionally appeared in people's windows. It wasn't until they approached a tall building in the square that he realized what was happening. On the journey there, he had shared the bottle with Ric, and with the other man who had spoken to him, Luca. He could feel the liquid floating around in his head and he couldn't tell if his brain was buoyantly floating or sinking like a stone. They stumbled up the steps of the establishment and the scent of tobacco and perfume filled his nose.

It was a saloon. Just like the ones he had heard about from the men when they told their stories around the campfire. To his left, a long bar ran along the wall, decorated with shiny bottles and colorful ladies to match. Men sat at tables and stood around, but no one turned to look as they entered. Perhaps they didn't notice because the sound of the piano coming from the corner mixed with the loud chatter of drunken men and laughing women were too loud. Maybe they didn't care. They all looked like they were having too much fun.

Damon took a final pull from his bottle and sat it on the table to his right. He followed the others to a table and tried to focus on his surroundings. He was a little angry with Ric for not telling him what was happening; he never would have drunk so much if he thought he was going to want to remember what was happening. Most of the other men wandered off in search of drinks and other pastimes, but Ric leaned back in his seat and smiled. "Sorry we couldn't bring you earlier," he half-shouted. "I figured we'd have gone on a march by now and it's usually better to get that out of the way first."

"Why's that?" Damon half-slurred back.

"It's rough, kid. Let's leave it at that."

Damon nodded.

A few moments later, a pair of long, skinny arms slithered around Ric's neck and the woman attached appeared from behind him. "Well if it isn't my favorite customer?" she giggled, kissing him on the cheek.

Damon blushed. He'd seen plenty of men drink a little too much and get handsy with some young little thing who would giggle and smack his hand away. He always made sure he took the lady's hand and removed her from the situation, and perhaps laugh about it later when he recounted the episode to his brother, or even Elena. He had never seen a woman act so forward before. His eyes widened when she slid a hand down Ric's chest and onto his inner thigh, "I guess you've missed me as much as I've missed you?"

Ric laughed a husky little laugh Damon had never heard before as he pulled her onto his lap. "You can't possibly know how much I've missed you, Meredith. Not yet, at least." The two laughed and Damon realized he had never been so uncomfortable in his life. He was suddenly very aware of how straight he was sitting, but when he tried to slouch, as he had grown accustomed to around these men, he felt ridiculous. Then there were his hands, which fiddled and twitched in his lap, then on the table, and then on his lap again. He looked straight ahead and willed himself to stop blushing.

"Who's this?" Meredith asked.

"This," Ric said, with a smirk on his face that made Damon fearful, "is a very good friend of mine. He's new, see, and the boys and I just wanted to treat him to a night out for being such a good soldier."

Damon looked around, but there was no "boys" to be seen. "Well, how well are you wanting to treat him?" Meredith smiled. Unlike Ric, earnestness lay on her lips and in her eyes.

Ric leaned in closer to her again and said something that Damon couldn't hear. Meredith just nodded and gave him a small kiss on the lips before hopping up and parading off into some unseen corner.

"She seems nice," Damon said tightly.

Before Ric could respond, they were joined once again by the other men, each with a drink in one hand, and a few with a girl in the other. They played around, howling and guzzling down the golden liquid in their glasses. Occasionally, they would send off a girl to get another, but she always came back quickly. Damon tried to laugh and join in, but Meredith had been gone for a long time now. He could feel Ric smirking at him, and he couldn't bring himself to meet his eyes.

Finally, when Damon feared he would grow sore from fidgeting so much, Meredith returned empty-handed. She took her original seat in Ric's lap and acted as if nothing had happened. Damon calmed down at once. He wasn't sure what he was nervous about – or perhaps he was absolutely sure, because it wasn't soon after that another woman appeared with a full glass in hand and her eyes locked on his. The sight of her scared him even more. She was tall, almost as tall as he was, with long hair. Her skin was olive-toned and her hair was so light it almost matched. He could not help but wonder if she spent long periods of time out in the sun when she was not… working.

"I saw your glass getting empty," she said simply, putting the full one down on the table.

Damon looked to Ric for instruction, having never been in this sort of social situation before, but Ric only continued to look at him as he had been. "Thank you," he finally stammered.

The entire table was watching him now, waiting for him to say something – anything - to the girl before him.

"He's shy," Ric said to her. "Probably just used to charming the ladies with his looks, not his greenbacks."

Damon blushed furiously this time, but was relieved to see a way out. "I am afraid I have no money," he said, honestly. "Sorry, I won't waste your time."

"Oh, don't worry about all that," the girl giggled, scooting closer to him. "Your friends have been very generous… to both of us."

Damon's stomach turned and he couldn't tell if it was from her words or her perfume - it was overwhelming and smelled like roses. "Oh, no. No need." He struggled to find words. "I am quite content. Thank you."

The table laughed. One man, louder than the others, said, "Content? You've been away more than a month! You got that girl o' yers sneaking into camp or what?"

The table roared with laughter and Damon wanted to be anywhere else. He willed the image of Elena away from his mind; he did not want to think of her here, but he was so embarrassed he could not find room to be angry.

"It's fine," Ric sighed. "We've all got a girl somewhere, kid. They don't need to know about what goes on when we're away."

Damon took the drink and gulped it down, shoving both of his empty glasses at the girl. He frowned apologetically once he realized his rudeness. "Could I please have another?" he said guiltily.

She only smiled and took both of the glasses, "I'll fill both."

Once she was gone, Ric leaned in and smacked him on the head. "'S the matter with you?"

Damon shrugged dejectedly.

"Those manners ain't gonna do you any good here, son," one of the older men said.

"You don't gotta feel guilty," another added. "They're just doing their job!"

"It's not that," he sighed, frustrated. "I-"

He had been so concerned with finding a good excuse that he hadn't noticed Meredith whispering into Ric's ear again. Just as she had finished her thought, he slammed his fist on the table and crowed to the air, throwing her from his lap and stomping his foot. "Boys, I just figured it out!"

The entire room was listening now, not just the table, and Damon leaned his elbows onto his knees and put his face in his hands. He was caught.

To his credit, Ric delivered the blow swiftly. "We got ourselves a cherry!" he shouted. All at once the crowd of people went into an uproar and he could feel a group of men rush on him. Ric grabbed him by the back of his head, laughing wildly. "You'll thank me for this!" he said as someone grabbed Damon by the arms.

He fought as the men dragged him up the staircase and down the hall. They shoved him into a quiet little room, cheering all the while. It was suddenly quiet when they shut the door, and he could hear them retreating back down the hall to the main room. The room was dimly lit, but he could make out the pink curtains that hung over the windows and the matching paint on the walls. It was a simple room with just a bed, a small table, and a chest, but it was cozy, he thought.

The door opened and the woman who went to fetch his drinks entered, the two promised beers in hand. "I'm sorry about that," she smiled. "I take it you're one who likes to keep these things quiet?"

"I don't prefer these things at all," he muttered taking one beer and gulping it down quickly. He could feel himself becoming quite drunk, but he was desperate to wash away the embarrassment. She waited patiently for him to finish before trading him glasses. When he was done, she set them both on the table.

"They're only teasing," she said.

"Hilarious," he grunted. Feeling suddenly relaxed, he stood and snatched a silver cross from a little bowl of jewelry on the table, swinging it from his fingers. "So," he slurred, dramatically falling across the bed, "is this where you deflower me?"

She laughed. "Is that what you want?"

He sat up, squeezing the necklace until it left imprints in his hands. How was he to answer a question like that?

She paused for a moment before leaning in slowly, kissing him softly on the lips. He sat still for a moment and he could feel his ears get hot. How long had it been since he felt the touch of another human? It was only another moment before he clumsily smashed his face to hers. She was the softest thing he had felt in months, and warm too.

He ran his hands up the girl's leg and then her abdomen, all the way up to her face, where he held it and pulled away. "What is your name?" he breathed.

She opened her eyes. "Rose."

He almost felt disappointed by the name, like he was expecting her to say something else, and perhaps he was. Rose was soft and beautiful, but she was wrong in every way. Her perfume was too strong and sickly sweet, her hair and eyes were too light, and her voice was too deep. She was not Elena.

"I can't do this," he blurted.

She smiled and ran a hand through his hair. "I know."

"I have someone at home... I can't be anymore without her than I already am… I know it does not make sense, b-"

"It's all right," she reassured. "Does she know?"

"What?"

"How you feel?"

"I think so."

She rolled her eyes.

"That is not good enough?"

She scoffed, "Anyone can 'think so', but not everyone can know."

"You think she does not know?" he said, confused.

"I think that you're not sure."

He frowned, "Maybe not."

"So make yourself sure. Make her sure. Tell her. When you get back, tell her that you can't be without her."

He sighed because she was right, and he hated that he had not said anything before. "What about everyone downstairs?" he asked after a moment.

"Let them think what they want," she said, kissing him on the cheek. He leaned back so his back was against the headboard. He focused hard on the wall in front of him in an attempt to get it to stop moving. "Do you want me to leave you?"

His head lulled to the side so he could look at her. "Will you just lay with me?" he asked quietly, and he was surprised to feel a lump rising in his throat and the corners of his mouth turn down hard.

She smiled softly and scooted up next to him, laying her head in the crook of his shoulder like he had so often pictured Elena doing. He closed his eyes and tried to pretend it was her, but nothing was right. "Rose," he whispered.

"Hm?"

"What if I don't make it back?"

* * *

Damon groaned as the pain spread from his back to his chest. Ric had rolled him to his side so he would not choke on his own vomit, and he retched into the wreaking grass in front of him. "I remember," he choked. "I remember Fell's Church."

Ric laughed and smacked him on the back. "How could'ya forget?"

"I'm dying," Damon said, though he did not mean to. The sound of Ric's voice fell to the background as Damon pondered what lay ahead of him. He hoped heaven, if he made it there, would be soft and the color of chocolate, mahogany, her eyes. Everything was too bright, too loud, and too painful, and he hoped it would all fade like sunlight on a warm summer's day.

Saving his friend was the first choice he had made for himself in a long time, perhaps the first since he decided to love Elena. He did not regret it, though all he could see was her face when she received word of his death. He would never tell her that she was the only thing that was important to him. Not honor. Not glory. Not adventure. Not family. _Elena_. It hurt him to think he let her down in that way.

He selfishly resented that her tears for him would run out. She would find a new man eventually, and bear his children. She would go on to live her life, perhaps only thinking of him when she had a private moment in the dark. That was all he would become in death, a broken memory hidden away like pictures in the attic.

Ric hovered over him, shaking his shoulders. A sound like a whip cracked from behind him and Ric was no longer shaking him. Damon listened for him, but he could only hear his own pain, screaming like a kettle in his belly; his heart beating faster and faster; and her voice saying his name in that way she did. He would die without ever hearing it again, and that was greater than any pain he could imagine.


	11. Mother and Sister

**Chapter Eleven**

**Mother and Sister**

_Mystic Falls, Virginia_

_1864_

Jeremy Gilbert was born on a warm day in the middle of winter. Elena could remember waiting to meet her new brother in her prettiest yellow gown. Her father sat in his big leather chair in the parlor, a fine cigar waiting to be smoked at his side. "Sit down," he had said gently.

The sound of Miranda's screams echoed from upstairs. "Is the baby hurting my mother?" she asked, climbing into his lap.

"No, my dear. If your mother does not scream loud enough, how will the stork find her?"

She nodded. "I forgot."

So she listened to her mother scream and scream until it as silent, and she pictured the giant bird perched on the window wither new sibling swaddled under its great yellow beak. She had to wait all day, but when she finally got to see her mother, she looked tired from all the screaming. Elena's face was bright with curiosity as she eyed the bundle of blankets in her arms. "Is that her?"

Miranda laughed. "It is a boy, Elena. You have a brother."

She looked to her father for confirmation, but he only smiled proudly over his wife. "Would you like to meet him?"

Though disappointed, she gently crept up to her mother's side, and over her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of a hand, much smaller than her own, grasping at thin air. Her mother's slender fingers pulled the soft woolen blankets down from his face. He was bald and shrunken with grumpy looking eyes squinting against the light. She reached forward timidly to feel him, make sure he was real, but he grabbed her finer first. She froze and he squeezed her finder with all of his strength. "He likes you."

"What is its name?" she wondered.

"_His_ name is Jeremiah."

_Jeremiah_, she mouthed, and her heart swelled inside of her. "I love you," she cooed. "I love you. little Jeremiah."

Her parents laughed because her little mouth struggled over the name, sounding more like _Germ-y _instead.

She was never without him. Each morning, Jeremy's wet-nurse would fink her curled up on the floor by his crib. Her mother caught her breastfeeding her dolls. She picked out his clothes and read to him in the evening. She even helped boil the water to bathe him in. She loved him more fiercely than anyone or anything else. This did not come as a shock to anyone. This was the girl who held a funeral for a dead mouse in her mother's garden, who stole a loaf of bread from the kitchen to give to a hungry man in the market, who snuck a horse into the parlor just so it would not suffer the cold of winter in the barn.

Miranda was thrilled to see such compassion sparkling in Elena's young eyes. No one girl or woman was better suited for motherhood, she knew. Her pretty face would bring her a husband, her father's name would bring her a rich one, and her kindness would bring a happiness never truly known to Miranda herself. That knowledge brought her peace.

Unfortunately, Miranda never lived to see that plan carried out. Her husband followed soon after, and Elena was left to dimmer but ever-present light gleaming deep within her eyes. Her grip tightened around her dear brother, and the line between mother and sister was no longer as clearly drawn as it once was.

Elena's destiny to be a mother was perfectly clear when she sat on the floor of the parlor, cradling a child's face in her hands. Ladies from around town had come forth to offer their condolences and concerns to the family after Stefan's "accident." They brought mixed gifts, like things to entertain a bed-ridden Stefan and baked goods. Honoria Fell, who had made Katherine and Elena a new set of dresses after the fire, even brought her daughter in hopes of cheering Elena.

The ladies in the room lifted their eyebrows at her dress, which spilled out on the rug, but she didn't care. She had done nothing but worry for Damon since he had left. In the month he was gone, she had made fourteen pairs of socks, nine cakes, four batches of cookies, and various other treats, all of which snugly fit into the wooden boxes she sent to him every other week. Her anguish only worsened after she learned all of Katherine's secrets. Instead of sleeping, she stayed awake at night, looking out her window for anyone lurking in the dark. She wrote letter after letter to Damon, expressing her fears, but burned them in the fireplace instead of sending them.

Then she heard the little girl laugh, and it was like listening to the twinkling of a hundred of little bells. There was no thought of vampires or war, just a little girl in a pristine white dress that her mother probably made for her. Her perfect little ringlets bounced excitedly as she ran around the room, showing off. The ladies laughed quietly, but Elena was beaming. She had to resist the urge to grab the girl and squeeze her as tightly as she could.

She was so happy she did not even noticed Katherine entering the room. "Stefan would like to thank you all for coming," she smiled. "He only wishes he could do it in person." The ladies all offered sympathetic smiles and sat up when they saw a house girl bringing in tea and cakes. "I only wish I could offer you more in return."

Elena eyed her aunt uneasily. The ladies all looked at her kindly, almost in admiration. Another woman her age might have been called a spinster, but nobody thought of her that way. She was too charming, too eloquent. Her eyes swept across the room, briefly landing on Elena with a sort of severe brevity before continuing on with her niceties.

Elena ducked her head and returned her attention to the child once more. She was standing in front of Elena, grabbing the silver chain of her necklace and tugging on it. "Do you like it?" Elena cooed quietly.

"Elena," Katherine called sternly. "Get off the floor. You know better." Cheeks red, she did as she was told, and the little girl quickly followed her to her spot on the couch, and climbed onto her lap. "As I was saying," Katherine continued, "help yourself. Quickly, though. I do not mean to rush you, but I surely would not want any of you walking home after dusk. You never know what could be lurking in the dark."

Elena shivered.

Jeremy walked in then, followed by John and Giuseppe. John went straight to his room without saying a word. Giuseppe watched him go for a moment before turning his attention to the room, pasting a smile to his face. "Good evening, all! Had I known Miss Katherine was going to throw a party, I would have arranged for better food to be served."

"They came on their own, Mr. Salvatore," Katherine smiled. "For your son. He is quite popular, you know."

"Of course," Giuseppe said with a bow to the ladies. "My son and I thank you."

"What news is there of Damon?" Elizabeth Forbes said. "William just informed me of the loss suffered by Confederates in Tennessee, over seven thousand men. I spent the night praying."

Giuseppe's features froze in a cool smile. "All is well, thank you. He writes often, and I could not be more proud of his contribution our glorious cause.

As the ladies sat back in there chairs, reassured by his answer, Elena insides echoed with the furious screams of dissent. Just like that, the child was forgotten and her thoughts were reoccupied by bitterness and worry.

Jeremy slid further into the room, unnoticed, joining Victoria in the corner. He took her hand and gave it a small kiss, to which she replied with a smile, before sitting down.

Elena's frown turned to a grimace. Her brother's face was clear of any worry, as if he had never died, and according to him, he had not. Katherine did not allow him to remember, of course. Sometimes, Elena wished she was not allowed to either.

She and Stefan had begun spending ample time together. She liked to sit with him when she was doing her needlework or when she was reading. They both enjoyed each other's company in place of Damon, and they could talk to each other freely about vampires and other things without the risk. He had told her of his and Katherine's affair, and even trusted her enough to relay the information his father was giving him from the council. In return, she shared details of Damon's letters and her fears that he was not being entirely honest to spare her any worry.

Giuseppe voice pulled her from her thoughts, and her skin bristled at the very sound. "You all should get home soon," he said.

"Just as I was saying," Katherine agreed. "Though it is no fun to cut the party short, I suppose that is just how things are to be until you brave men catch that madman."

Giuseppe laughed like a schoolboy talking to a pretty girl. "Don't worry. We will."

* * *

The house was quiet. Elena sat, as she liked to, at Stefan's bedside, working on yet another pair of socks. Stefan sat bored, as he always did. Katherine had healed him almost immediately after she bit him, so he was no longer danger. However, he was still required to play the part, meaning his nurse was compelled to keep treating him as she normally would. More important, he was absolutely forbidden to leave his bed. Elena almost pitied him.

John, Giuseppe, and Jeremy had gone to meet with the Council, as they did every morning. "They meet at the Town Hall," Stefan explained once. "After the fire, John searched through the rubble and found every last surviving piece of paper. Reliable information is sparse, but they are not calling off the search yet. They have been sending men out, armed with stakes, to try and find the vampire who bit Jeremy, but they have not found anything thus far."

"Then the vampire is getting smarter," she replied, not taking her eyes off of her work. "Either he has left or he has found another way to feed himself."

Stefan bit the inside of his cheek. "How is Jeremy?"

"He does not remember what happened, but he is determined to make his way into that stupid council. John won't let him inside the meetings, so I cannot imagine what he does all day when he goes with them."

"Do you think he will discover the truth?"

"I have no doubt if he is as stubborn as I am. He is desperate to know what is happening."

She was just about to say something else when she heard the sound of rushed footsteps up the stairs. She set her work down at Stefan's side and got to her feet, but Katherine burst through the door before she made it there. Worry lines carved her forehead and her mouth was in a pointed frown. "Sit," she ordered. "We have a problem." In her hand, she held onto a yellowed envelope tightly. She handed it to Stefan, but kept her eyes on Elena. "_You are going to be calm_."

Elena nodded, and she already felt her muscles turning from stone to soft clay. She let out a breath. "What is it?"

"Damon."

Again, she felt the same disconnect that happened every time Katherine compelled her. Her muscles felt on the brink of tensing and her stomach felt as though it wanted to jump and tumble, but it had lost its legs. She tried to process her emotions as just thoughts, but the panic could not translate. She could only stare blankly, rigidly. "Is he dead?"


	12. The Man in the Cart

**Chapter Twelve**

**The Man in the Cart**

_Mystic Falls, Virginia_

_1864_

On a particularly cold day in December, a squeaking wagon uneasily made its way over the uneven roads as it traveled toward the small town of Mystic Falls. Before, the old rattletrap had been used to cart away bodies and injured men from the battlefield. If one looked closely, they might have noticed the faint bloodstains on the floor. Someone else might still be able to smell the metallic scent of vomit that had sunken into the cracks of the old wood and festered. One gifted with those supernatural abilities of seeing and hearing beyond might even hear the screams of men grasping at the limbs that they would soon lose. Or perhaps they would only hear the stillness of death, a limp hand dragging through the dirt and mud as the wagon headed back to camp.

The dirt road, lined with vast rows of tobacco, seemed unending. The cart's driver hunched over its reigns, his nose red from the cold. He threw a glance over his shoulder at the limp body splayed out in the back.

Damon's feet shook with every bump in the road. He was dressed in full uniform, his cap laying at his side. The soft gray fabric was stained red around his midsection, a wound screaming like hell beneath. His face looked sunken in, even though his body looked harder and broader than when he left home. His skin was pale, yellowed. Instead of wide, curious eyes looking at everything around him, they were fighting to stay open. Pain stained the whites of his eyes red and he looked at something unseen to anyone else, in a dream, perhaps. The red veins of sickness and fatigue had dulled the sharp blue of his irises. His eyebrows were drawn together in discomfort, revealing the dirt stuck in the creases of his skin.

"How much longer?" he groaned.

"The town is on the horizon," the driver replied. "We'll be there before nightfall."

Damon gritted his teeth. How long had he been tied to this cart? A day? A week? When he left camp, he was drunk on moonshine made of turpentine, lamp oil, and brown sugar. He had a hole shot in his abdomen. The doctors dug the bullet from his belly and rejoiced when he survived. Under Phineas' authority, Damon was granted furlough, where he would be allowed to recuperate at home, thus saving the Confederacy much-needed supplies and food, until he was ready to come back and fight again. In reality, he was granted the opportunity to die in his home, surrounded by his family.

Now the liquor was gone, and he was drunk on nothing but pain. He thought of his mother and how she detested the cold weather, imagining her coming down from the heavens and wrapping arms made of sunlight around him. His eyes opened once more, and he realized it was just his fever.

If his mother was the warmth, he thought, then his father would be the cold, piercing his skin like needles. He was struck by the question of whether his father was trying to use the cold to break his fever or if he was just trying to finish him off. Phineas' words bounced around his brain. _"It's odd that you ended up here."_ Wasn't it, though? Everywhere he had ever been in his life had been odd.

Of course, his thoughts drifted to Elena as well, whom he realized, when he was coherent enough, was getting closer with every dull thud of his heart. When he was at his most delirious, and no longer had the mental strength to exercise such precise control over himself, his mind would wander to places he had never allowed it to go. He would find himself thinking of her billowing skirts and how he would like to slide his hand up into them and see what he could find hidden there. Other times he could picture her standing in front of him as he undid her corset stings, watching her relax a little with every move he made until it was just the bare skin of her back showing.

His mind would wander to other things, like the night she visited him in her nightdress and he liked to think of the way it would fall to the floor, leaving her standing there, completely open to him. He could picture the blush on her cheeks perfectly. He could see every bump on her skin rise from the cold touching her. God, he wished he could touch her, if only to hold her hand. The thought made his heart stutter.

"How much longer?" he groaned again.

* * *

Elena looked up impatiently from her book, biting down on her lower lip. Since Katherine had delivered the news of Damon's injury and impending return two weeks ago, she had not been able to keep her eyes from the window. Even though she could not know where he was exactly, she knew he was not far away. She was only reassured by reminding herself that she would see him soon.

There was a mix of anxiety and joy inside of her. Although Damon was coming home, he had been injured in a way that many men did not survive. His survival for this long had already been a miracle, and now the only thing anyone could do was wait to see if he survived the trip home.

When she first heard the news, she wanted to go wait by the road that entered town so she would be the first to see him, but both Katherine and John had forbade her from doing any such thing. Instead, she found excuses to do activities near the front of the house, so she would always be close by a window should he return that second.

Stefan looked up from the hangnail he had been picking at for the last hour, following her gaze. "Won't be long now," he sighed.

"You think I forgot?" she snapped. Immediately, she wished she could take it back, but she had been on edge for too long. Stefan was growing used to it.

"I just wish you would stop worrying," he said. "It only makes it worse for you."

"What if he is unable to make it?" she said, her voice becoming shaky. "What if he does not survive the trip? It is so cold out and he is already suffering."

"He survived this long."

The argument was one they had fought many times, but each time they both grew quiet in stalemate. Both of them were worried about the same thing, but only Elena was brave enough to admit it out loud.

Just as she opened her mouth to say something else, there was a knock at the front door. Stefan threw his quilt off, but Elena stood to stop him. "You were been attacked, remember?" she said, eyeing the bandage on his neck.

He sat down with a huff, but she never turned to see his dirty look. She flew down the stairs, holding the rail with both hands so as not to fall. Katherine had appeared behind her at some point, but she barely noticed. She threw open the door only to find the face of a stranger, not Damon. "Hello," he said, awkwardly. "I'm Private Martin, 19th Regiment of the Army of the Confederate States of America. May I speak with a Giuseppe Salvatore?"

As he spoke, her eyes drifted past his shoulders and landed on the cart parked in the gravel at the bottom of the stairs. A leg stirred over the edge of the stained wood and her heart leapt in her throat. Without a word, she shoved past him and towards the wagon. Somewhere in the back of her brain, she heard Katherine apologizing for her behavior.

Damon struggled to sit up. She gasped audibly at the sight of him. Aside from the bleeding wound in his belly, he looked sickly and malnourished. His body had changed since before he had been shot, and was slowly shrinking from lack of nutrition. Tears came to her eyes and she realized everything he had told to her in his letters was a lie, as she had suspected. He knew she would have been upset if he had told her of the conditions he was really facing.

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, kissing him on the cheek and burying her face his neck. She could only do it for a moment, lest she get into trouble, but she had to make sure he was really there.

Even though he was unsure if any of this was even real, he wrapped his arms around her as tightly as he could manage. The scent of lemongrass and clean linen filled his nose. He felt tears well up in his eyes as he grasped at this illusion, wishing so desperately for it to be real. All he could hear were her quiet assurances, but he had heard them so many times in his dreams, he could only brace himself for her to fall away into his subconscious, leaving him to be awakened by the bitter cold and harsh sunlight. "Damon?" he heard. "You'll be just fine now, Damon. You're home."

And just in case it was not his imagination and just because he was so desperate to say it, he tried to focus on her beyond his spotty vision. "I love you, Elena. I hope you know that I love you."


	13. Furlough

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Furlough**

_Mystic Falls, Virginia_

_1864_

Even in the comfort of his own bed, there were times when Damon could not distinguish between real life and the battlefield. He sat between two fields of consciousness. In one, he hovered in a semi-alert state where the pain burned in his belly like fire. He would groan, but he never dared to move. Whoever watched by his bedside, usually Elena, would reach for the whiskey on the side table and pour it into his mouth generously. Then, he could only wait for the liquor to blind him in drunkenness or put him back to sleep. The whiskey was better than the bile they fed him in Frederick's. It was from his father's finest stores. "I would spare no expense to ease the pain of my son, who fought so valiantly," Giuseppe once boasted. Damon was not coherent enough to question whether that was actually true.

On the other side, he drifted away from the warmth of his sheets and found himself on the battlefield again. The air was filled with dark clouds, buzzing angrily in his direction. They grew closer and the buzzing became louder until he could see angry wasps making up the clouds. They enveloped him, covering his skin and filling his throat.

Sometimes he would come face to face with a man in a blue jacket. The man would extend his hand, and Damon would beat him with his fists. Perhaps it was fated for him to be a murderer, even in his dreams.

In other illusions, he would spot Elena walking across the battlefield. She stood out, gliding across the carnage, her pale blue dress unstained and glowing. It was not until he got closer that he realized her chest shook and heaved. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she looked at the bodies around her. She brought her wet eyes to his. "Damon," she sobbed, "help them!"

He could not stand to see her cry, and rushed forward, trying to comfort her in his arms. She resisted. "I know you killed them."

Elena listened as he whimpered in his sleep, her hand wrapped tightly around his. Once so beautiful, he now looked like a ghoul told about in children's stories. The life had drained from his skin, making him pale and coarse like a stone. Even his hair, once black like raven's feathers, resembled nothing more than ash. His cheeks were hollow and his lips pale blue. When the nurse pulled the bedclothes back to check his wound, the spot revealed a rainbow of blues and yellows where broken veins leaked under his skin. Dried blood was caked under his fingernails from him scratching at himself. The hair on his face had grown enough to cover half of his face. The nurse would not permit him to move from his bed and shave. The rest of his hair had also grown long and riddled with lice. She felt sick every time she looked at it. The nurse never seemed concerned. "The sweat will suffocate the little buggers," she shrugged.

This was his corpse, Elena realized. When he died he would remain exactly like this in both his grave and her memory. Even his eventual decay could look no more horrifying that he already did.

Katherine had compelled her, of course, to feel no sadness from this, but she did not want to feel happy or calm as she waited second after miserable second to see if he would live or die. Anger was the only emotion she had left, the only negative emotion she was permitted to feel, so she sat, her book untouched in her lap, and brooded over the unfairness of it all. All the noise and false emotion crowded in her head like a piano playing out of tune.

Elena was usually left alone with these thoughts. The compelled nurse had released Stefan, yet he was always too busy with Katherine or his father. Jeremy would sit with her sometimes, but he did not understand any of it. He could not. John would check in, as did Katherine, but they had other things on their minds. He was too busy plotting against the vampires and she was too busy running fast enough to stay two steps ahead of him. Giuseppe never showed his face in that room. Not once. The nurse was seldom far away, but she was too busy caring for Damon, to ever speak with Elena.

One day, when Elena was especially angry at the world around her, it was Damon who tried to lift her spirits. He was not well, but he was coherent and denied any liquor long enough for him to be able to speak with her. "I see you a little every day," he said, "yet I miss you still."

She leaned forward and took his hand, hoping it would comfort him in some way, although she could see the pain clearly etched on his face. Apparently he saw the pain on hers as well. "What is wrong?" he said.

She could not tell him exactly what was wrong, could not reveal to him her fears, could not let him know that she heard Giuseppe speaking to John about the best type of wood used in coffins, and certainly could not let him know of her anger. He did not have the strength to worry about any of that now.

Instead, she shrugged and put a smile on her face. It was easier than she thought it would be. _It has never been so easy to be happy_, she thought angrily.

As if reading her mind, or part of it, he gestured to the table by his bed. "Would you assist me?" She turned quickly to help him, fearing he would try to do it himself. "In the first drawer," he instructed. She opened it, but only found a stack of papers bound together by rough, brown string.

"This?"

"Yes. Would you hand that to me, please?"

She did, and he undid the string slowly. The papers all fell apart upon his lap as he did so, and she realized they were mostly letters. "Are these…"

"Yours," he finished. "And some other things I thought would be important."

She smiled a little. "Are you looking for one in particular?"

He nodded, "A piece of parchment… folded, I think. It will not be addressed to anyone." He found it before she did. "Read it," he said.

The paper was yellowed, and looked as though someone had spilt coffee on it on the top left corner. There were blanks in between the typed script, in which someone had filled them by hand. It read:

_To all Whom it may Concern:_

_The Bearer hereof Damon Salvatore_

_a private in Captain Mikaelson's Company,_

_19th Virginia Regiment, Co. A., Army of Northern Virginia, CSA,_

_is hereby permitted to go to Mystic Falls_

_in the County of Albemarle , State of Virginia,_

_he having received a **FURLOUGH** from the_

_6th day of December, 1864_

_until further notice , 1865, at which period_

_he will rejoin his Company and Regiment at **CAMP STONEWALL**_

_or wherever it then may be, or be considered a Deserter._

_**GIVEN** under my hand at Camp Stonewall,_

_this 6th day of December 1864._

_Phineas Mikaelson_

_Captain 19th Reg. Va. Co. A., Army of No. Va., CSA_

She looked up from the letter to find him giving a weak, yet smug, smile. "Do you understand now?" he asked. "I was only given furlough so that I may heal properly at home with my loved ones. With you. Once I am better, I will go back, serve my three years, and this will all be over and done with."

Her eyes sank back down and ran over the same bit over and over. "..._until further notice, 1865._" That blank was not supposed to say "further notice." It was supposed to have a specific date. Otherwise it would not say 1865. Her cheeks grew red.

_Are they just trying to let him die with some dignity?_ she wondered. _Is it better to die in service? Does that make him special? Perhaps they really are just unsure of when he will be better. He was severely wounded. No one can know when he will get better_. "You're right," she said, and she could not tell if it was a lie. "I am sorry for being so pessimistic."

He smiled and brought her hand to his lips. "See? Everything is just fine, my love."

* * *

Damon had been in such high spirits the few previous days that Elena was almost excited to sit with him that day. Some color had returned to his cheeks and he was laughing again - a sight Elena was sure would never greet her again. In the back of her head, she feared that this meant that there was a series of bad days around the corner – that was the way of illness.

She opened the door slowly, in case he was asleep, but his bed finally came into view, she realized he was not in it. Her stomach dropped and she swung the door open, looking for some sign of him. "Damon?" she cried.

There was a quiet whimper from the other side of the bed in response. She rushed to find him lying curled on the floor. The metallic smell of blood assaulted her and she felt bile rise in her throat. His nightshirt was red and drenched in sweat. A puddle of liquid surrounded him and she thought he had soiled himself, but then she saw the overturned basin next to him.

"I just wanted to wash my own face," he sobbed. "I thought I could do it."

"Help!" she cried, finally. "Someone! Help!" His red hands shook as he held them over his gushing wound.

She fell to her knees and took his face in her hands, trying to get him to respond, but he continued babbling to himself. "I did not mean to do it…"

She heard footsteps crashing up the stairs. "Everything is all right, my love," she cooed through her tears. "We can wash your face later."

"My face?" he shouted. "But look at my hands! I need to wash my hands! Look at them! Their blood is all over my hands!"

"Whose blood?"

"Please don't be angry with me," he begged.

Her eyes widened, but before she could question him further, the commotion had drawn the others inside. John, Jeremy, and Stefan looked into the room. The nurse joined quickly after.

"Go get Giuseppe," John barked, "in the barn. Hurry!"

She looked down at Damon one last time before parting. "Everything is all right," she muttered again, half to herself. She prayed those words were able to reach him, wherever he was.

Giuseppe was exactly where John said he would be, calmly running a brush through his horse's mane. "Sir!" Elena exclaimed. "Come quickly... Damon."

He glanced at her dismissively, unshaken by her physical state and words. "Isn't it always?"

"You misunderstand-"

"I understand perfectly."

"Sir," she tried again, but her breath was growing ragged from holding back an angry sob. "I believe he is dying!"

"He has been dying for days, my lady. You know that."

She looked at him in disbelief. How could he be so callous? So uncaring? "You won't come to say goodbye?"

"I said my goodbyes long ago."

Images of the bruises Giuseppe gave Damon flashed before her eyes. "He is your son." A sob caught in her throat, and she was unable to say anything more.

"Thankfully," he said, finally looking her straight in the eyes, "I have another."


	14. Death Bed

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Death Bed**

_Mystic Falls, Virginia _

_186__4_

Everything smelled like liquor; his hair, his breath, his skin. Elena preferred that over the stench of death looming beneath. Unable to cry, she prayed and poured whisky between Damon's lips. Even though he was drooling all over himself and speaking like a man in a brothel, she hoped he was distracted from his pain.

"Oh, Elena," he slurred. His words were riddled with little hiccups and pauses now and again. "Elena, Elena... E-lena."

"Yes?"

"Ya e-ever get that feeling where yer so happy that yer teeth gr… grit together and yer head s-starts to hurt and yer chest gets all tight and yer fists get all fight-"

"Fight?"

"Tight! I mean t-tight. So, yer fists are all tight and ya just feel like yuh'll go off like a cannon? Ya ever feel like that?"

The corners of her mouth turned down harder and her face got hot. For the thousandth time, she tried to remember the last time she was genuinely happy – when she wasn't worrying about Damon or vampires. Before Katherine stated playing with her memories and emotions like they were toys. She did not bother to answer.

Damon continued on, unbothered. "Why do'ya think that h-appens, hmm? Why does my body want to ex-explode when I'm happy? Does it think I won' get any happier?"

She brushed a tear from her cheek, hoping he did not see. "Is that how you feel now?"

"I'll tell ya when the liquor wears off," he smirked.

Just then, the nurse walked in, a worried look on her face. "No more of that," she said sternly, gesturing towards the bottle in Elena's hands. "Help me change his wrappings."

Elena nodded and stood quickly, setting the bottle on the table at Damon's side. They pulled back the bedclothes and the nurse adjusted his legs so they were straight. Elena wondered if being mortally wounded removed the suspicion of impropriety as she unbuttoned his trousers and slid his shirt up his chest, revealing more of him than she ever should have seen before they married.

She grabbed his hand as the nurse peeled back the white bandages covering his wounds. Damon groaned a little, but another sound caught Elena's attention. She heard the front door open and slam shut, followed by almost inaudible sounds of footsteps flying across the floor. A second later, Katherine appeared in the doorway, her hair tumbling from its pins atop her head and her eyes wild. "_Leave_," she said to the nurse.

"Wait!" Elena called, looking down at the bloody flesh that just sat exposed now. It was too late; the nurse was gone.

Stefan passed the nurse as he entered, politely nodding though she did not seem to be paying attention. His cheeks were red and he was breathing hard. Katherine shut the door behind him. "How is he?" he asked.

"Not now," Katherine chided.

"You have news?" Elena asked uneasily.

"They hung two men and one woman just now in the square," Stefan said. "Slaves."

Elena's cheeks grew red. "On what charges?"

"Conspiracy to commit murder," Katherine said, looking irritated. She gazed at Damon's partially visible lesion. It had been too long since she fed, and even with the smell of rot in her nose, her mouth watered. "The council knew they could not be vampires because they walk in the sun, so I am assuming they were executed in order to send a message."

"Did they have anything to do with the murders in the first place?"

"They were witches," Katherine said. "If anything, they would have been trying to keep vampires away."

"Does the council know about witches?"

"They were just looking for a scapegoat," Stefan said. "They needed something to keep the townsfolk calm. They do not know anything."

"Yet." Katherine said, her eyes looking between both of them shiftily. "I cannot stay here for much longer."

"What?" Stefan asked, and it was clear that he had never considered the possibility of her departure before.

"They have found witches, whether they know it or not, and possibly aroused the need for retaliation from a coven, if there is one. They will do whatever they have to protect their own, including revealing any vampire within a hundred miles. I am no longer safe here."

"You cannot leave," Stefan said.

"Not while the real criminal is still out there," Elena added.

"I have to leave _because_ the real criminal is still out there. I have no other choice."

Elena bit her lip. Of course, she wanted the protection that Katherine provided, but when she really thought about it, Katherine was not all that protective of anyone but herself. If she left, things might return to normal and the Council could catch the mystery vampire. Or, it would grow tired of Mystic Falls and move on as well. "Where will you go?" Elena asked.

"So quick to get rid of me, aren't you?"

"If you must go, then I woud like to know where."

"That is of little importance."

"You cannot leave!" Stefan reasserted.

Katherine softened a little, moving to Stefan's side. "What else am I to do?"

"Stay."

"Stay!" Damon shouted from his bed, making Elena jump. "That's wha-t they all say. They say stay. 'Stay!' they say. But nay. I say 'nay' to stay."

Elena took his hand, "Please, Damon. I need you to be quiet. Can you be quiet for me?"

"Quiet?" His voice was weak, but grew louder with each word. "Elena, I'm a regular fuckin' poet! I-t would be cruel to be quiet!"

Her stomach dipped a little, but she was growing used to his drunken vocabulary. Katherine laughed.

"He is dying, you know." Elena felt anger leaking into her stomach once again. "You laugh while he dies."

"No," Stefan said. "He just needs time… to heal."

"Oh, he isn't?" Elena pulled back the covers a little more to give Stefan a better view of his wound. The hole was dark brown from a mixture of fresh and dried blood. White pus leaked in the center from the infection. The surrounding veins were dark under his skin. The smell was thick in Elena's nose, but she jutted her chin out against it. She wanted both of them to see it. To smell it.

She wished she could feel the hurt she saw in Stefan's eyes. She only felt ferocity towards the two people who would rather spend their time sneaking around in the candlelight than care for him at all. "Thank you, Doctor Salvatore, for your _apt_ diagnosis. Would you like to change his bandages too? It is not like you have even seen them since he returned home." At that, she grabbed fresh ones from the bedside table and began to clean and bandage him herself.

Stefan ducked his head guiltily. "I was unaware..."

"I expected as much from your father, but you?"

He stiffened at that, "You do not know anything of our father."

"I know enough. I know that _you_ know exactly what I mean."

Katherine shot him a questioning glance. He had never told her anything unpleasant about his father.

"Just leave," Elena said through her teeth.

"Katherine!" Stefan said. "You can help. You can heal him like you heal me. It's simple."

Elena's head snapped up. "You can do what?"

"Her blood," Stefan went on. "Her blood can help him."

"I told you before," Katherine sighed. "I cannot afford to do that. Not with the head of the Founder's Council living in the same house as I. A recovery that rapid is too suspicious."

"You could have healed him this entire time?"

Elena thought back to the time she asked Katherine to feed him her blood, but Katherine only shrugged. "I can only cure the bite of a vampire," she shrugged. "There's no hope, dear."

_There's no hope, dear_. That was all Elena heard.

"You knew he was dying, didn't you?" Elena stood again, approaching her 'aunt' with clenched fists and fire in her belly. "A dead thing must be able to sense other dead things. You could hear his heart struggling to pump that infected blood around his veins. You could smell the rot on his skin. You knew."

Katherine backed up a little.

"Do it!" Elena shouted. "Fix him! Now!"

Before Elena knew what was happening, Katherine's hand was around her throat and her back was against the wall. "You've stepped on dangerous ground," she growled.

"What will you do?" Elena challenged. "Suck me dry? Rip out my heart? You cannot afford to heal someone, let alone kill another."

For the first time, Elena saw the beast inside of Katherine. All of her fear had been so buried before, but now as she stared into Katherine's bloodshot eyes and watched the teeth slide from her gums, she felt real fear. It rose from the depths of her stomach up and into her throat. Whatever courage fueled by rage she felt before was gone.

"Katherine," Stefan said timidly. "He is my brother."

She turned back to Elena, who nodded against her grip. "Please," she choked.

Katherine let go and bit her hand with a growl. She squeezed her fist over Damon's mouth, the blood falling slowly at first and then quickly. Damon sputtered at first, but opened his mouth after a moment. Elena shuddered.

* * *

When Damon awoke, he felt as though he had spent the last hundred years in a coffin. There was a sudden rush of clarity and awareness when he opened his eyes. Early morning light poured in through the curtains, filling the room with dim light. The room smelled like sickness and the mattress below him was molded to his body, but he felt good. He felt strong and limber and for the first time, he noticed how good it felt to bring air into his lungs and stretch his muscles.

He felt something stir between his fingers and when he looked down he saw it was Elena's hand. Her head rested at his side and a mass of curls spilled out on his abdomen. Her face was dark, as if this was the first time she had slept in a long while, but her expression was peaceful. She was in her nightdress and he realized she had probably snuck in the night before. He tightened his grip. For so long, he felt as if he was looking at her from the bottom of a well. Her head would peek over the top and she would shout down to him, but he was too far down, drowning in the water at the bottom.

"Elena," he whispered. He was so awake. He needed to sit up, run in a field, take the woman he loved in his arms and spin her around because, God, he was _so_ alive. "Elena, wake up."

She sat up with a start, taking in her surroundings with sleepy eyes. "Damon?" She fumbled on the side table for the bottle of whiskey. "Are you all right? Do you need more?"

He smiled. She was more perfect than he remembered. How long had it been? "No."

She sat up straight as if struck by sudden reality and all the sleep was swept from her brain. "Damon?" He smiled and she laughed like she was going to cry, but he grabbed her face before she could. "You're all right?" she breathed.

She stood and ripped the covers from his body, tearing the strings loose from his nightshirt and pulling it off. There was not a scratch, not a mark on him. She put her hands where his wound used to be, and it had disappeared. She understood now what he was talking about in his drunken stupor the previous night. She felt like she could go off like a cannon.

It was then that she kissed him. She kissed him once and then twice and then she was kissing every inch of his face and laughing like a maniac. This was the moment she had dreamed of from the moment he left her. This was the moment he dreamed of from the moment he met her.

"Your kisses have cured me," he smiled.


	15. Union

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Union**

_Mystic Falls, Virginia_

_1864_

Oddly enough, as Elena slid her fingers lightly up Dmon's arms, past his neck and into his hair, she thought of her mother. She was so beautiful before sickness took her, though never without the distance often seen between a wealthy southern women and her children. On the first day Elena bled, her mother had, of course, instructed Elena, though not plainly, in her destined womanly duties. Just as Miranda had done, Elena would soon run a household of her own, entertaining at parties, maintaining the staff, and god-willing, bear children for her husband.

"Shedding the white dress," that is what her mother called it. Elena was nothing short of horrified to learn of this, and her mother's opaque description only seemed to frighten her more. "The first time will hurt the most," she said, "and you must endure it that night and many nights after."

Damon was close to her now, breathing down her neck. She felt blood rush to her fingertips, and could think of nothing needing to be endured, certainly not Damon.

His eyes were as piercing as ever, but it was not their blue she saw, but the lines around them. The sun had darkened his skin and carved lines into the corners of his eyes. He did not look worn, but older, like a man. He wore everything he had seen out there on his face.

She drew closer and kissed him tenderly, but only because she could not sit under his gaze for another second. She could not let him see how nervous she was.

It was still very early in the morning, and no one had yet stirred from their beds, so every move either of them made was made carefully. They acted as if one squeaking floorboard would alert everyone to where they were and what they were doing. It was exciting, but Elena had no idea why.

Damon forced himself to move slowly. He could feel Katherine's borrowed blood racing through his veins. The thought made him shiver a little. Elena ran her hands all over him as if to learn every plane of his body. She traced and retraced over every muscle and bone until his impression was burned into her fingertips. The feeling of her just-barely-there touch raised goosebumps across his skin.

"Never let a man see your naked body," Elena heard her mother say. "It will only encourage him." Her dressing gown hit the floor. Damon's hand roamed the newly naked territory of her arms. He helped her undo the ties at the neck of her nightdress, pulling them slowly and to the side so he wouldn't have to break his lips from hers. It was awkward at first, as they both tried to tug the ties out of the knots and keep close in their embrace. Elena finally broke away, smiling and blushing.

Never saying a word, she pushed him backwards so he was sitting on the bed. She undid the rest of the ribbons herself, opening the front of her nightdress to reveal her bare breasts. She smirked a little as she watched him watch her. He had a look in his eyes that was unlike anything she had ever seen on any man. His eyes widened, but never dropped his gaze from her body. She loved it, letting the gown slide to the floor and stepping out of it, towards him.

She was totally bare now, standing right in front of him and he gazed up at her with something almost like fear in his eyes. He lifted a hand to her belly, pushing it up the soft skin and over her breasts until he could wrap his hand around the back of her neck and pull her face to his. He pulled her closer until she had to climb on to the soft sheets of the bed with him.

"Whatever your duty is to your husband, it should be performed in complete darkness." Damon trailed his hands along the streaks of morning light that illuminated her body. She did not want darkness to mask him from her, or her from him, for that matter.

"You should not make a sound as he huffs away, nor move. Never for a minute embolden him by making him think you enjoy it." He positioned himself over her, on his knees. The mere closeness aroused something she sparsely felt in her young life: pleasure. Her body seemed to know exactly what to do, and she lifted her legs up to wrap them around his waist. She wanted, needed him to be closer.

As he kissed the length of her torso, her hips and legs had begun to shake uncontrollably. She could not understand why.

Occasionally, he would run his tongue over just the right spot on her neck, or flick it just the right way over her breast, that sent yet another new sense of satisfaction up her spine. He reveled in it. The way she suppressed a whimper or the way her hips rocked against his brought a smile to his face. He tried to maintain himself, but every breath, every sound she made pushed him to a dangerous height of excitement.

Her cheeks were flushed and she made every movement after careful consideration. He was a little surprised when she stopped rocking beneath him in order to take his hand and place it carefully between her legs. She never took her eyes off his for a moment, and he pressed his forehead against hers. She drew in a little breath as they embarked on a new frontier, their own Manifest Destiny.

He was undeniably pleased when he felt the wetness between her legs. He was unsteady in his movements, unsure of what he was doing, but Elena took his hand once again to help him. She smiled reassuringly as she guided him, exploring herself as well. She directed one of his fingers inside of her slowly, nervousness clear on her face. She released his hand, and he measured by her expression what angles she liked and at what pace he should go. When she opened her eyes, she could not help but giggle at the look of concentration on his face and the delicate touch of his hands.

She pulled him down on top of her once more and he willed himself to maintain control. It was clear by her face that she did not want to wait any longer, and his body was telling him that he had not other option. They both pulled at the buttons of his drawers, and while he took control, trying to get yet another pesky button undone, Elena closed her eyes and braced herself. There was no going back after this.

She could hear him slipping out of his drawers, but then she was too nervous to look down. His face swam into view and she willed back the tears in her eyes. "We do not have to go on," he whispered, his mouth right by her ear as he feathered kisses on her skin. "I won't if that is what you want."

She brought his mouth back to hers and kissed him gently. It occurred to her that this would change things. If they were caught, her reputation would be ruined. According to her mother, he would expect this sort of gratification all the time now, but she wanted it as well. There was nothing she wanted more than Damon. What was wrong with that?

"Gently, now," she whispered back and he nodded as he sat up.

Looking down at her, he breathed her in for a moment. She looked to the ceiling anxiously, her lower lip caught between her teeth. He rubbed his hands up her thighs and onto her stomach, pausing there to measure her nervous breaths. She still would not look up to him.

He bent down to kiss her once more as he gently rubbed the tip of his member back and forth over her. She sucked in a nervous breath, smiling a little, and squirmed underneath him. He made a mental note of that. Then, as softly as he could, he sank into her. Her body was rigid and tight around him, and a look of discomfort crossed her face for only a moment.

She likened the sensation to fire, in the worst way possible. Her insides burned as he moved inside of her. _This will pass,_ she thought hopefully. Still unmoving, she let out a long breath, forcing herself to relax. He pulled back slowly and then eased inside again.

She turned her head away as tears began to well up in her eyes. They were not so much from the discomfort, but rather her own thoughts. There was happiness because she knew Damon was the one person on the planet she should be doing this with; sadness because now, she was really a woman, and she was not sure if she was ready to claim that title; anxiety at the thought of who might be lurking outside the door; and of course, the pain.

He was pumping in and out of her faster now, and as he reached his climax, she just felt numb. It was strange, she thought, for she eagerly wished for it all to be over, yet she would have prolonged it all, if she was able.

Damon started to feel his control slip away. He opened his mouth to moan and Elena slapped a hand over it, reminding him of what was at stake. He buried his head in her shoulder then, and entwined his fingers with hers, a warmth spreading in his belly until he slammed into her one final time, a little harder than he meant to.

His heart rattled inside of his ribcage, desperate to break free. His body relaxed on top of her and she let out a little sigh, running her fingers through his hair. It was neither bad nor good for her, but she would have done it a hundred more times if it meant she could hold him like this.

Damon was in a daze. Elena was all there was. She was the smell of honey and lemongrass in his nose. She was the taste of sweat on his lips. She was the heavy breath that filled his ears. She was the soft hair on his face and the warm body below him.

The euphoria left him all at once though, when it struck him that he had made a mistake. He only knew it after hearing the men talking around the campfires about their own sexual adventures when he was still at camp.

Elena lay contentedly, her breathing slowly returning to normal, but his began to pick up. The night that Damon had supposedly popped his cherry at the brothel, a man talked about his first time with a woman as they made their way back to camp. "You always gotta ask yourself, kid, 'Did I leave anything behind?'" the man said. This confused Damon, of course. "Like," the man continued, "when I go stay with one of the fine ladies at the inn, I don't like to leave any of my things behind. I grab my hat and my coat and any other extensions of my being that might be of importance." Damon looked to Ric for some sort of explanation, but he was laughing too hard to answer. "Jesus, kid. Just don't go leaving a trail of bastards from here to the Mississippi, all right? I learned my lesson a long time ago, that's for damn sure."

Elena pulled the covers over them both and allowed him to settle back down with his head on her chest. None of these thoughts plagued her. Damon slipped his hand between her legs and stroked up and down her thighs. He could feel his seed running down her legs and on to the sheets. His cheeks turned red.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked quietly, as she kissed his hair and stroked his back.

"You, of course."

"What about me?"

"I love you," was all he could think to say.


	16. The Good Son

**Chapter Sixteen**

**The Good Son**

_Mystic Falls, Virginia_

_1864_

The afternoon sun was high in the sky when Damon awoke. Without opening his eyes, he stretched his arms out around him, hoping to find Elena at the end of his fingertips, but no one was there. The room was silent, apart from his own heartbeat. Disappointment was on his face before he even opened his eyes. As he fell asleep earlier, he ran his thumb lightly over Elena's collarbone – already rising and falling slowly – and he thought about waking up to find her still next to him. He could wake her up and watch her eyes open, still drowsy with sleep, and perhaps she would smile a little when she saw him. Or maybe her eyes would open in panic when she realized where she was and what she had done, but he did not want to think about that, or anything unpleasant, for that matter. He wanted to think about the taste of her lips when she gave him one final kiss goodbye. Instead, the spot where she had lain had grown cold and the smell of her skin had disappeared from the sheets.

The bedding was in dire need of changing, and he wondered if anyone would ask questions. He shrugged off the thought; a massive wound in his body had been leaking all sorts of substances not twenty-four hours ago, so it was possible no one would think twice about it. He leaned over and grabbed his trousers from the floor, but his shirt was harder to find. He finally spotted it peeking out from under the other side of the bed. He was not supposed to be healed, so of course, he could not leave his room, but the aftereffects from Katherine's blood in his veins made him feel a little anxious.

He laid back against his pillows and tried to distract himself. Now that he was healthy, he could go back to the army, although he did not know if that was a good thing or not. He had not even made a dent in the time he owed the Confederate Army before he was shot, so when he went away once again, he would be gone for a long while. He would have to say goodbye to Elena again. He pictured her and the worried knot in his stomach twitched. Perhaps he would have to say goodbye to another new face when he left.

He pictured a bouncing little boy sitting on Elena's lap. He would have her big brown eyes and his wavy black hair. The daydream was clouded by the thought of what would happen if he were born out of wedlock. The word 'bastard' tumbled around in his brain. Elena had no family who could raise the child, nor did Damon. She would have to leave Mystic Falls to have the child, and might never even see it. He suddenly felt very ill.

Just then, his nurse came in. "Oh, good," she smiled, "you're awake." He went to sit up before she pushed him down. "No, dear! You could rip open your stitches again." He lay back and watched her with wide eyes as she pulled his shirt up. Nothing was there, not even his bandage. She gasped, and he looked guiltily up at her. "Mr. Salvatore, you've removed your bandages!"

"Well, I won't need them anymore, will I?" he asked, confused.

"Miss Gilbert gives you too much from that bottle," she sighed. "It is a shame to see such a bright-eye go balmy."

She pulled back his shirt once more and began to treat the spot on his stomach as she had every day, taking no notice of the perfectly unharmed skin that sat there now. "I-"

"Quiet, dear. You are never to take your dressings off, do you understand? You risk infection." His eyebrows drew together in a confused grimace, but he nodded anyway. "You were lucky this time," she smiled sweetly, touching a hand to his forehead. "Your fever has gone down as well."

"Where is Elena?"

"At tea with the Donovan girl, talking up her brother, I suppose."

He nodded, "Stefan?"

"He accompanied Miss Katherine into town. She just announced her imminent departure and was hoping to buy some more winter gowns for when she goes north."

His tongue stuck to the top of his mouth at his last question, and he had to force himself to say it. "What about my father?"

Her hands froze for a moment and he could hear the lie in her voice. "You know how busy he is, dear. It is never easy being the man-of-the-house."

At that, the door flew open and from around the nurse Damon caught a flash of brown curls. For a moment, he thought it was Elena who had come to see him.

"Oh! Miss Katherine, I did not think you were home." The nurse carefully placed Damon's nightshirt back over his abdomen and lifted the blankets over his chest.

"Stefan and I just returned," Katherine said, appearing from behind the nurse. Her eyes made her look like an animal braced to kill. "I wanted to check on him."

"He is doing better, though that isn't saying much." Damon watched her solemn eyes fall to the floor and he wanted to scream. Had it all been a dream? Was he crazy for thinking he had been healed?

Katherine nodded as though she cared before grabbing the nurse by the soldiers and turning her so they were face to face. "_Go downstairs and check on Stefan._"

"Is he unwell?" she asked blankly.

"_Why don't you go find go find out for yourself?_"

The nurse did as told and left the room without another word. She had left her supplies lying scattered on the bed around Damon.

John caught the door just as it was closing. "Katherine," he started, but stopped in his tracks when he saw Damon. "Oh, I did not realize he was awake."

"Good to see you, John," Damon said with a smile.

John's eyes widened. "Oh! You sound so well."

Damon smiled, and Katherine scowled down at him. "He is having a good day, indeed," she said nervously.

It was then that Damon remembered he was supposed to be ill. He slumped down a little. "I am feeling some better," he said, feigning a grimace.

John eyed him suspiciously. "I just came to tell Katherine that I am going to escort Elena home. Damon, I am glad you remain in good spirits."

Damon nodded politely as John went.

When the door creaked shut, Katherine slapped a hand around his throat, slamming the back of his head against his headboard. His eyes widened at the sight of her face, twisted with rage and bloodlust. His heart pounded and the back of his head throbbed with each pulse. "I am truly shocked at how stupid you turned out to be," she said through gritted teeth.

His throat felt as though it was sealed shut, and he could only reply with a fearful glance.

"I saved your life, did I not? I healed you. I compelled your nurse to care for you. I brought you back from the edge of hell just to make my niece happy and this is how you repay me?"

He could see the anger pulse below her eyes.

"Do you even understand what I am speaking of, sweet Damon?" Her expression softened a little and her true face faded away. She brought her free hand to his face and gently caressed his cheek. He knew exactly what she was talking about, but even without her hand secured around his neck, he could not have said it. "Can you guess what I found when I came to check on you this morning?"

_Her_, he thought.

"I take time out of my busy day to make sure you are well and I find my precious niece laying in your bed like some common whore!"

The last word was like a punch to the gut.

"Do you feel good about what you've done? Hm? You think anyone will have her if they find out what you've done? You have _ruined_ her."

His face was turning red and her fist tightened with each word. If she carried on, his neck would snap. She relished the thought before relinquished him, allowing him to choke on the sudden rush of air into his lungs. She pulled his head back to face her by the hair.

"She begged me not to kill you," she said through clenched teeth, "but I should have ripped that tiny brain from your skull. I should have castrated you." His stomach dipped. He had never heard a lady talk like that. He had never even heard a man talk like this. "I should have killed you both. It would have been more merciful than letting you both live to see the consequences."

"What consequences?" he said, finally. "You told someone?"

"Lucky for you both, I have a vested interest in Elena's future, so I cannot kill her myself. As for you," and her eyes glanced over him like she was ready to rip his arms from his torso, "you are safe as well. She might behave irrationally if I ever did anything to you. You should be thankful that she is just as weak as her father."

"What are the consequences then?"

"It all depends on when your luck runs out," she smirked, releasing his hair. "If you two decide to do this again and you get caught by someone who is not as levelheaded as myself, she would be ruined. If, god forbid, she bears a child because of this, she would be ruined. Somehow you avoid all the consequences every time, but perhaps Elena's suffering will be enough punishment for you."

He swallowed hard; only one of those things had crossed his mind before. "But what if I marry her?"

"Your father has discouraged John every time the subject comes up. He says he already has a bride in mind for you."

Damon's stomach sank. There was no bride, of course.

"Would you know anything about that?"

His eyes widened," No!"

She put a finger on his lips. "You have complicated my situation quite severely, you know." She took the finger from his lips and dragged it down his chest onto his belly where his wound used to be. "Perhaps I am being petty," she sighed, but there was a feral look in her eyes.

He watched her nervously to see what she would do. Sweat had formed on his brow and his breathing picked up. Her soft touch turned hard until she was digging into his abdomen with her pointer finger. She broke through the bandages and the skin and muscle all at once until she could feel his organs at her fingertips. For a moment, he didn't feel it, and then, like a second gunshot, agony leaked throughout his belly. She smacked her hand over his mouth before he could scream. "Never fret," she purred. "I told you I would let you live, did I not? I will heal you just as before, but first I want to see you suffer."

He could feel tears spilling from his eyes. "I'm sorry!" he choked as quietly as he could. "Please! I'm sorry."

"I know you are," she said looking him in the eyes. "You are _so_ sorry, _you won't go near Elena - not if you can help it. You won't tell anyone about what just happened now or earlier in the morning._ Do you understand?"

"Yes," he sobbed. "Please!"

Satisfied, she took the finger out of his stomach and allowed him to drink from her wrist. The sheets were significantly bloodier than when she arrived, but when she left, Damon was in good health – better health, even. The nurse was waiting just outside the door, and Katherine smiled at her sweetly. "You will need to change his dressings. I am afraid he has bled through them." The nurse peeked through the door but when she looked back to Katherine she was already walking down the hall.

"And throw out those sheets for God's sake!"

* * *

Damon had spent the rest of the day pacing back and forth in his bedroom. Every now and then, when he heard footsteps come down the hall, he would quickly jump to his bed and make his face look like a man's who had been shot.

Every nerve in his body was alive, though it was not like the first time Katherine had fed him her blood. Then, he exhausted all of his energy with Elena. This time, he felt agitated, as though he needed to go everywhere at once. Elena was on the front of his mind at every second, but he could not see her. He guessed she would not be coming to see him either.

It was late in the night when he finally felt at ease enough to climb into his bed, although he knew he could not sleep. He stared at the candle that he had left burning across the room. The flame sat almost completely still for longs periods of time, swaying back and forth just barely and then suddenly something unseen to him would make the flame jump and twitch. He lost track of how long he had been watching when he heard footsteps in the hall. He sank down in the covers, closing his eyes and praying his heartbeat would slow as the door opened slowly.

Footsteps made their way across the room slowly, stopping by his bed. Damon resisted the urge to peek, but the silence made him uneasy. Whoever it was dragged a chair all the way up to his bed, and he could hear it creak as they sat down. Weight shifted on the mattress where they propped their elbows on it.

There was a moment where nothing happened and then he felt a drop of moisture hit his arm followed by a sob. Then he could not resist any longer, and he peeked through the slits of his eyes. His body went cold and stiff. There next to him, with nothing but the candle light to make him known, sat Giuseppe Salvatore, his hands clasped in front of his face as though he was praying.

"Father?" he whispered, though he knew he was supposed to be sleeping. He felt something spark within him, hope that his father was weeping over him. What could it mean?

Giuseppe jumped backwards with a gasp. Damon threw the covers off of himself to stand and Giuseppe cowered into the corner. "Father, are you all right?"

"No," he said, straightening a little. It was less of an answer to his own question and more a statement of his fears being realized.

"You were crying."

"Yes."

"Why?"

The older man advanced on his son carefully, stopping a few steps away. "Your heartbeat was so quiet. I was thanking God."

"Thanking him?"

"I thought it was only a matter of time..."

"What do you mean?"

"He said you were no longer ill," Giuseppe said, his speech growing angrier. "When I saw how pale you were and heard the shallowness of your breath, I was sure he was wrong."

"You wish me ill?" Damon frowned.

"I would rather you were sick than a demon!"

Damon started, looking down to evaluate himself. He had not grown scales or a tail. His voice sounded normal and his teeth were no more sharp than normal. "What do you mean?"

Giuseppe reached for the nightstand, grabbing something that Damon had not noticed before. A stake, he realized. "If you were mortal, you would still be sick, and you would die soon just as any man would. I would finally, _finally _be rid of you."

Damon backed up a little. He considered calling for help, but then he realized John would be of little help. There was no one to save him, not even Elena would be able to fight her way in.

"Who turned you?"

"Please! I am being honest!"

Giuseppe dove at his son then, the stake braced awkwardly. They struggled for a moment, quietly, and Damon wondered if he would ever see Elena again. "I cannot let everyone see the shame you have brought upon this family," Giuseppe grunted. "I won't let you drag us down to hell with you!"

Damon fell backwards, trying to think of some way to reason with his father, and it was his hesitation that allowed Giuseppe to plunge the wood through his chest. He stared down at his son as he struggled against the pain, but nothing like what he expected happened. There was not flash of light, nor the face of a monster. There was no clap of thunder or some supernatural sign that the mortal man had defeated his immortal foe. There was only Damon's face, collapsing in agony. Blood poured from the wound and onto the sheets, and with each moment that Giuseppe held his weapon tightly in Damon's chest, he wondered if all vampires died like this. Finally, when Damon could no longer struggle and the only thing on his mind was the mind-numbing pain of wood splintering in his heart, his father ripped the stake out.

"Father," he cried, "please."

The stake slipped from between Giuseppe's finger, and he spoke through bared teeth. "You are not my son. You were never my son."

Damon looked back to the candle again, watching the flame dance wildly. There was nothing his mind. Only pain. His heart pumped desperately for a few more moments, until it finally stopped, and after fighting to stay alive for so many months, he was dead.


	17. Unfathered

**Chapter Seventeen**

**Unfathered**

_Mystic Falls, Virginia_

_1864_

Giuseppe stared down at Damon's corpse, watching the dim candle light dance on his pale skin. His head had fallen to the side, but his eyes were still open. He was so still. Giuseppe took a step backwards, a foul calmness blanketing his shoulders.

It was done.

Something inside of him warned against turning his back on Damon. If he was able to rise from the dead once, what was to stop him from doing it again? He kept his back to the wall and slowly exited the room, shutting the door behind him and hurrying off to John's room down the hall.

Unbeknownst to him, the true vampire of the house was very much alive, technically, and braced to kill anyone who stepped through her door. She considered fleeing through the window, but she could not bring herself to leave without Stefan. She put her ear to the wall that divided her room and his, focusing hard. She could hear the sound of his steady breathing, and though she wanted desperately to see him, she knew he would only slow her down. A low growl rumbled up her throat, surprising her, as she had unlearned such unbecoming and base instincts. Never had a human so compromised her position that she felt without escape, yet she knew perhaps the first time she laid eyes on the Salvatores that one of them would be her undoing.

As quiet and poised as a cat, she crept out of her room and through the house. Emily was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, worry in her eyes. "Something is wrong," she whispered.

Katherine nodded. She learned long ago never to ignore a witch's warning. "Prepare the carriage. We leave tonight."

Emily did as she was told, turning to leave. Their carriage was already packed with essentials, should they be caught in a situation such as this. This was customary ever since the revolutionaries in France had run Katherine out of her home more than fifty years ago. Then, she had been left with nothing, no money and no clothes. She saw to it that they would never be put in that situation again.

In the meantime, John came to examine Damon's body. He did not have the reaction Giuseppe imagined. He expected there would be some kind of congratulation for defeating their foe, but John only looked down with wide eyes. Though the majority of his information was gone in the fire, John knew the most about killing vampires. In some legends, the demon would turn to dust, or contrarily to stone. It was a creature created by magic and it was his assumption that its death would be no ordinary event.

Giuseppe stayed on one the side of the room, but John got close, leaning on the bed to steady himself over the body. He braced the blade he carried in his hand tightly as though Damon would spring up at any second. "Were you bitten?" he whispered.

"Of course not!" Giuseppe shifted uncomfortably, ready to strip down to nothing if that's what he had to do to prove that he was not going to turn into a monster. "He didn't even try!"

"Did he struggle?"

"For a moment, but it was much easier than I expected."

"Then the legends depicting them with inhuman strength were false." John pulled back the neck of Damon's nightshirt, looking for any bite marks. It was only a moment more before he discovered that the wound on his stomach had disappeared as well. "He was healed, just as I told you." He took a vial of vervain from his pocket and rubbed it on the boy's arm, but the skin reacted as if it was water.

"The demon is gone, then?"

"Perhaps it is expelled from the body before it dies. First the demon goes and then the body cannot function any longer without it. Though, he certainly is not how I pictured a dead vampire." John paused for a moment longer, evaluating Damon's body like a scientist. "Nothing happened after you staked him?"

"Well, he died," Giuseppe said.

John rolled his eyes. "Before that?"

"No, nothing."

"You are sure?"

Giuseppe nodded.

"Curious," John sighed. "The Council will want to know about this first thing tomorrow morning."

"No!" Giuseppe moved forward then, bracing the sleeves of John's shirt. "Please, you can't tell anyone. Imagine the shame it will bring to my family! Please! We can announce him dead from his wounds and forget about it all. The town is safe now. That is all that matters."

"You forget, where there is a child, there must be a mother. Damon's sire runs free."

Giuseppe was silent, fearful.

Quietly ascending the stairs, Katherine listened to them argue. She stopped just as she reached the top of the staircase when she saw Stefan walking cautiously towards the room. Her muscles braced, but she kept to the shadows, watching him from afar. _Fool_, she thought.

"Damon?" Stefan said as he opened the door. John and Giuseppe jumped and braced their weapons in front of themselves. Whatever sleep that had moments before weighed down his mind was gone as entered the room. His brother's body hung lifeless over the side of the bed, his chest covered in blood. The two men's hands were covered as well. His stomach sank and bile rose in his throat. The smell was strong in his nose. "Father?"

Neither of the men could find the words to respond and Stefan rushed forward to his brother's side.

"Damon? Damon can you hear me?" There was nothing, no response. "I don't understand," Stefan breathed. "What happened?"

"He was a monster," Giuseppe said. "He was like whatever attacked you. He even attacked me."

"We know this is still new to you," John added. "We have tried to keep you informed, but it is a lot to take in."

"It was not Damon, son. He's gone."

"That's not how it works!" Stefan cried. "You don't understand… Damon was no monster. Vampires are not so different from us. They are still human on the inside. They can live without causing harm. I know! I've seen it!" He had said too much, but he hadn't disobeyed Katherine's compulsion; he never even mentioned her.

"A sympathizer!" John spat.

"No," Giuseppe choked. "No, he is just upset. He has no idea what he is saying. His grief is speaking for him."

"_I_ am speaking," Stefan growled. He grabbed the bloody stake from beside his brother's body and turned quickly. "You were just waiting for an excuse, weren't you, father? The only thing you regretted about sending him off to war was that you would not get to kill him yourself! Now you have your wish."

Giuseppe scowled, too consumed with his son's words to pay any attention to John, who was waiting for just the right moment to disarm the boy. Before either of them noticed, John dove at Stefan, knocking him to the ground.

Katherine could listen no longer. By sunrise, she would be gone and Stefan would be at her side. There was nothing she had to lose. She burst through the door, scanning the room for him. He slid back away from John's grip, breathing hard. "Katherine," John said through quick breaths. "Go, it's not safe."

He watched in horror as her eyes turned red and her fangs slid out of her gums. "You are right, John. It's not safe." She hardly noticed the sound of his neck snapping beneath her fingers.

Giuseppe watched as he cowered in the corner, praying to God he would make it out of this alive. He could still save Stefan. If he could get rid of this demon who had seduced his son, he could teach him the reality of the situation. This did not have to be the end.

He waited until Katherine had turned around to check on Stefan before he snatched up the stake that had rolled near his feet. Her back was to him, and if he was quick and quiet enough, he could end this all. He dove at them both, fearful that if he ran across the wooden floor, she would anticipate his approach. He jabbed the stake at her and felt the tip pierce her skin just as it had Damon's. He pushed as hard as he could while he struggled with both her and Stefan under him. He could hear the bones of her chest breaking under his fist, but the tip of the stake had dulled slightly after he used it on Damon.

Katherine ripped Giuseppe off of her by the back of the shirt, throwing him at the wall across the room with ease. He hit the floor with a dull thud, losing consciousness.

"Stefan?" she whispered. He squirmed on the floor next to her, facing the wall. "Stefan, come. We cannot stay here any longer." Her eyes flickered nervously to Damon's body on the bed. "Stefan?" Her nose flared at the sweet smell of his blood and she reached down to turn him over. Giuseppe had not staked the vampire, but his son. The wood lodged itself haphazardly but deeply in his lower chest, not even close to his heart. "Stefan!" she cried.

His watery eyes locked on hers, and she could see the pain waxing in his irises. Distracted by the panic and the smell of his blood, she could feel her fangs unsheathe. She shook her head, trying to collect herself before shredding the skin of her own wrist with her teeth. She held it up to his mouth but he was already beginning to cough from the blood filling his lung.

"Drink, Stefan," she begged. He tried for only a second before coughing it back onto the floor. "Stefan!" she shouted.

The door flew open and Jeremy entered, eyes wide and flanked by his sister. The two took a moment to study their surroundings. Elena left her brother's side, flinging herself over Damon. Her breath came out in panicked gasps and tears filled her eyes. His body was already colder than it should have been. His eyes were unseeing. The life was gone from within. Jeremy went to his uncle, the last relative he had besides Elena. The last person he had to take care of him. He reached to touch his hand, but pulled back suddenly. It seemed wrong to touch him.

Katherine stood, braced for another fight with the youngest Gilbert. He stood too, putting himself in front of his sister. "Vampire," he he whispered. " It was not a question.

"No. Elena knows that."

Elena did know that, but she did not know what to make of it all. The sight of four dead humans and one live vampire was not at all reassuring. "What happened?" she sobbed.

Katherine looked to the window. The sun would rise soon, as would the house staff. She needed to go. "I do not know," she said honestly. "Giuseppe attacked Damon and that's when he brought John to the room. Stefan must have overheard and come to see what was happening. They accused him of being a sympathizer and John attacked him."

"A sympathizer?" Jeremy frowned. He was only fifteen. He still knew so little.

"To vampires," she said. "I was only trying to protect Stefan." She turned to look down at him. He was only a body now, but she had been feeding on him regularly. He would rise again. Nonetheless, it hurt to see him like that. Somewhere deep down in her chest she felt the dull pain of sadness that had been long buried there.

Katherine could see Elena slide her hand around Jeremy's arm, but she realized it was not to hold him back or to comfort him. Her other fingers remained secured around Damon's as well. She was supporting herself.

"What will we do?"

"They are not lost," Katherine said. "We must go. A carriage is waiting." She was right. Down below, Emily waited nervously by the front door.

Elena looked to Damon longingly, but it was Jeremy who spoke. "My uncle?"

"Gone," she said coldly. "There was no saving him."

From behind them, she heard Giuseppe move just slightly. His heartbeat picked up significantly, but he lay with his eyes closed as though he were still unconscious. He no longer had a weapon, but his Katherine considered him a danger nonetheless. She dove at him, knocking Elena and Jeremy out of the way in order to snatch him up by the collar. His strength was nothing to hers, but he grasped at her neck anyway in an attempt to subdue her. "Succubus," he choked.

"Not quite," she growled.

"I won't let you leave this house," he said, struggling against her. "I let you in and I can ensure that you won't get out."

"You forget that I am faster. I am stronger." Her grip tightened around his throat.

"You won't be able to make it out of here with my son strapped to your back."

"Damon," Elena said quietly from the corner. "Have you forgotten that he is your son as well?"

Katherine dropped Giuseppe to the floor, holding him against the wall with her foot. "I have forgotten nothing!" he gasped, rubbing his throat. "Damon was no son of mine."

The room froze, caught off guard.

"Are you so cold you would just cast him off like as stranger?" Elena cried. Katherine rolled her eyes, ready to snap his neck and be done with it, but Elena moved closer, her fists tight. "Why was he never good enough for you?"

"He was always a stranger to me," he said, looking defiantly at her. "I swore I would carry this burden to my grave, but it seems death is as near and eminent as my social ruin."

He made to stand, but Katherine pushed harder against his chest. She could feel his ribs quake under the pressure, and he quickly pulled back once more. "Speak," she growled.

"My wife was married to another, once," he continued. "We loved each other since we were young, but my family were farmers. I was no suitable partner for a name like hers. The man she married was wealthy and handsome, but harsh and impulsive. She was unhappy.

"I stole her," he admitted. "They were married not a fortnight, and I knew I could not leave her a day longer in that house. Our love was great. They could write songs about us."

Elena cast her eyes down. Damon asked her to run away more times than she could count when they were young.

"I fled to Mystic Falls much like my forebears fled to America centuries ago. I bought a plot of land and I built my stolen bride a little house with big windows. I did the only thing I knew how, which was to grow tobacco. It seems I was lucky; the land I purchased was some of the most fertile in Virginia. Soon my little farm was a plantation. Eventually, there was an entire town revolving around my land.

"All the while, my wife's body was changing. It was not long before we became aware that she was with child. It was hard to touch her after that. That is how I knew it the child was not mine." His eyes flickered to Damon and his lips peeled down into a hard grimace. "I never understood how she could love him so; he looked so much like his father. I am a good man, a Christian. I assumed the child was punishment for our false marriage, and after I prayed, I knew I could not let him starve. I was to ensure his well-being, but I never thought she would make me keep him in my own home.

"We were important to the town of Mystic Falls, founders. To protect my image and hers, I treated him as my own. I called him son, I sat him at my dinner table, but he was never _mine_. It became even harder to tolerate him when Stefan came along. He is my true heir."

"_Was_," Katherine said through her teeth.

Giuseppe looked down at his hands. "Stefan was made in my image, but Damon... he kept only his mother's eyes. I swear, even now I can look into his eyes and forget that it is not her. The sicker she got, the harder it became to even look at him. Once she was gone… what was my use for him? All he could bring me was pain." He paused then, holding in a sob. "I never intended for things to be this way. Once Damon was gone at war, I thought everything would be as it should…"

Elena had been running her fingers through Damon's cool hair without realizing it. Her stomach was boiling, and everything made sense to her now. Rage shook her teeth, and for the first time she wished she could be like Katherine, if only to have the strength to rip his limbs from his body.

"Let me up," he demanded. "I will have no more of th-"

Katherine shoved him back into the wall once again, his head hitting it so hard he fell unconscious. She turned to face Elena and Jeremy again. "Will you let me go?" she asked.

Elena was ready to let her leave with Damon in tow if it meant that he would come back to her. She would have driven the carriage herself if it would have helped. Jeremy, however, looked at her nervously. "How can I trust you?"

"I only came here to protect you both. I have not done anyone any harm."

Her words were not entirely true, Elena thought, but she still pleaded with her brother. "Let her go, Jeremy. Please."


	18. The Change

**Chapter Eighteen**

**The Change**

_Mystic Falls, Virginia_

_1865_

Months passed.

Jeremy and Elena were still residing in the now eerily quiet Salvatore house while their own was nothing more than a pile of wood and brick. They were both so young, and not yet given access to their parents fortune. Zachariah Salvatore, Giuseppe's brother and soon-to-be legal owner of the Salvatore estate kindly wrote offering condolences and offering the house as sanctuary to them both.

None of their neighbors, once so close to their family, volunteered to take them in. It was everyone's desire, despite their wealth, names, and color, to be as far away from the scandal as possible. The bodies, whether they were alive or dead was still of great mystery, of three men, one woman, and a handmaiden were still missing. There was no culprit charged, and the townspeople were desperate for someone to blame.

Damon's room still evidenced the events of that night. Even with the sheets cleaned and the floors scrubbed, bloodstains covered the walls and cracks in the floor. No one entered that room anymore.

Dinners between the siblings were quiet. Each of them sat on opposite ends of the over-long table, quietly clinking their silverware against their plates and avoiding one another's eyes. They kept to opposite ends of the house as well. Jeremy buried himself within Giuseppe's office, digging through everything he and John had compiled on vampires. He had been inducted into the Founder's Council only days after the incident. They forced him to drink vervain to prove he was still mortal.

Elena was forced to drink as well, although she was not told why. She kept to her room, encapsulated in thoughts of Damon, always watching out a window in hopes that she would see him walking up the path one day. He had yet to come back to her, as Katherine had promised.

It was February, and the cold had settled into the ground. It snowed rarely, but it was always freezing. Even when she sat by the fire, Elena could not escape the chill that made her limbs shake and her teeth chatter. On especially frigid days, she liked to imagine Damon coming back to her in the summer, bringing with him the warmth that evaded her her heart. Thinking of him pained her, but she knew he was out there somewhere. Katherine had promised.

* * *

When Damon awoke, he was surprised to find himself away from his bed, out of his home, and most distressingly, apart from Elena. It took a moment for him to remember where he was, but it all became clear when he looked down to his torn and bloody shirt. His father's scowling face came to his mind's eye and he remembered the struggle. His father had called him a monster. He had taken a stake to his own son's heart.

Damon stood in a panic, pulling the shirt over his head and throwing it into the quarry. His chest and abdomen were clear of any of the wounds that had previously ailed him. No bruises, no stab wounds or bullet holes, just flesh. He felt quite unlike himself. The sun already hung high in the sky and it made his eyes want to sink back into his skull. There was a pounding in his head and a scratching sensation at the back of his throat. He was hungry and cold. He could not remember anything after the altercation with his father. All he knew was that he should be dead.

_Perhaps I have gone to heaven_, he thought. There were trees surrounding him on each side, the peaceful babble of water in the quarry, but there was no one else. _Yet my heaven does not exit without Elena, so perhaps I am in hell._

He was not in an unfamiliar place. This was the quarry a few miles from his home. He spent many of his days here with Stefan when he was younger. The path leading back was overgrown, but he wearily toward it anyway, keeping his eyes down and away from the sun. He only stopped when he thought he heard someone calling his name. _Elena?_

He turned back, picking up his bare feet so that they were sprinting over the rock and gravel. He heard her call his name again, only it wasn't her. When he arrived back at the quarry, Emily was waiting for him. She held a horse by the reins. "There you are," she said when he got close enough. "How do you feel?"

He shook his head. "I look well enough, but I do not think I am... well, that is."

She smiled at him, handing him the reins. "Your brother and Katherine are waiting for you in Grove Hill."

"And Elena?"

"No need to worry about her now. She is safe."

He noted with mild irritation that she had not looked him in the eye. Grove Hill was in the opposite direction of Mystic Falls, but he wondered if he could just circle back around when he was out of Emily's sight.

"Damon," she said, grabbing hold of his shoulder. "It is important that you go straight to Katherine. Do not stop. Do not talk to anyone. She will be at Grove's Inn, right on the outskirts of town. Go there and I promise you can see Elena later."

"Why not now?"

"Because it is important that you do not harm anyone. Please, do as I say. It is for the best."

He looked down at the reins in his hands, wishing she would give him a better explanation, but he thought if she would not give one, Katherine might.

"Go," Emily said. "Time is running out."

When Damon came upon his brother and Katherine at the Inn, he felt ill from being shaken around on his horse for so long. He could barely find the strength to pull himself off of the beast's back and into the relief of shade. His insides felt were vibrating and he looked as though he would jump out of his own skin if someone made an abrupt movement around him.

He expected to find some comfort in seeing his brother, but when he first laid eyes upon him and the woman who looked so much like Elena, his stomach tightened. "Brother," he breathed, sinking to the floor against the door behind him.

Stefan sat up too quickly, too stiffly from his chair by the fire. He no longer wore a bandage around his neck as he had before. There was a bounce in his step; an effervescence bubbling within him, and not even the sight of his struggling brother pulled him down from wherever his mind was. He came to Damon's side instantly, helping him onto his feet and into the bed nearest them. "Careful with him," Damon heard Katherine say. "You are stronger than you know."

"I was worried," Stefan admitted. "I did not think it smart to leave him at the quarry, but here he is!"

"Emily was there to take care of him, Stefan. You know you can trust me."

"Of course," he smiled.

Damon tried to remain still through their conversation, but something in the room was distracting him. Inside, he felt a buzz within his muscles as though some unseen force wanted them to move. It was a smell, he realized. One he recognized too well. He began to struggle against his brother's arms, his head whipping around wildly in search of the source, but Stefan was stronger than he remembered. When they would play and wrestle out in the yard, Damon's strength always greatly surpassed Stefan's, and rightly so; Damon was twenty-one, three years his brother's senior. Now it was as though Damon's body was locked under the weight of a great stone, one that would outweigh their best cow, or maybe a hundred of them.

None of that mattered to Damon. All he knew was that somewhere in that tiny, dimly lit room was that someone inside of it was bleeding, and for whatever reason, he needed to see it.

"Why must he struggle, Stefan?" Katherine put a hand on his shoulder. "He knows what he wants. Let him have it."

Damon's pleading eyes met his brothers, but he couldn't find the words to express just how much he wanted to be free from his grasp. "Please," was all he could muster.

"Shouldn't we explain what has happened?" Stefan said.

Damon turned his head to face Katherine. She lifted her fingers to gesture to someone unseen to him. "Come here, pet."

A shadow swept across the room as it passed the fire and stopped next to her. It was his father, he realized, yet he was not as shocked by this as he was by the all consuming desire to tear into his throat. A fire lit in his belly and he struggled harder. "I waited for you," Stefan said. "I didn't want to finish him off without you, so I only took a little; just enough to complete my transition. Katherine thought it would be poetic."

Giuseppe didn't respond. His eyes looked straight ahead as though they were unseeing, his arms hung limply at his sides. "Go on," Katherine said, nudging him as if they were old pals. "Your son is hungry."

He did as he was told, approaching both of the boys and leaning forward just enough that they could get at his neck. Stefan watched Damon intently as he leaned closer and closer to the blood. Every muscle in his body ached in the direction of the sticky substance, but he was not sure why. "Drink," Stefan ordered, but Damon hesitated still.

Katherine was at his ear. "If you don't, you will lose Elena forever."

* * *

Elena hoped Damon was out there somewhere, alive even if she could not see him, but she never knew he watched her. When the moon was high in the sky and everyone had put out the lights in their rooms and gone to sleep, Damon would slip quietly through the yards of Mystic Falls and up the tree closest to her window. It reminded him of a time long ago when he would pull himself up onto the balcony of the Gilbert house and deliver her letters.

Now, she was much farther away, only a sliver of her arm and chest to be seen by the light of the moon. Her breathing was slow and steady, and she was safe because he would be there to protect her from anything that came in the night.

Katherine was very strict with Damon and Stefan during their first months after transition. She withheld the rings that she claimed would allow them to see the sunlight once again. She spent the long days teaching them how to coerce humans and how to appear like them.

"Never forget to breathe," she said, and the boys both instinctively inhaled deeply. It had been a long time since either of them did so, they realized.

She was strict when it came to feeding. Grove Hill was much larger than Mystic Falls, and they had no clue whether the town's obsession with vampires was anywhere as frenzied as it was in Mystic Falls, if it existed at all. They had to exercise care in everything they did.

They were not allowed to kill, but Katherine was not such a fool to think that there would not be accidents with two new vampires. So far, Damon had shown great control considering his insatiable blood lust. He quickly mastered the device of compulsion, feeding on someone for as long as their pulse was strong enough to keep blood flowing freely into his mouth, and then sending them on their way. It was not as satisfying as when he could feel their blood flow ebb until their body was still and their heart stopped, he realized, but he was unfailingly careful. Katherine made it clear that he would not be able to see Elena until he could control himself, and he knew very well why.

Stefan on the other hand, was not so easily subdued. He had been incredibly volatile from the second he felt his father's life leak out of him and into his mouth. He drained him so completely, that even when the heart no longer aided him by pumping blood into his mouth, he continued to feed on the already stale blood. When he finally stepped back, he realized he had fed so vigorously, that he snapped his father's neck. By the new year, he had already killed three people. Most notable was a little girl, no older than seven, with curly blonde ringlets and innocent brown eyes. He claimed he had not even noticed her until she fell and scraped her knee.

Katherine was vexed with him, with both of them, really. Damon was never supposed to be a part of the picture. He was a lovestruck idiot, but he would have produced an heir with Elena, continuing her line. Now he was an obstacle. He was no longer a suitable option for Elena, yet they would not stay away from each other. There was no doubt about that.

Now, Katherine faced the choice of killing him or driving a wedge between the two, somehow. The only thing that kept her from sending him straight out into the sunlight was Stefan. He would never forgive her.

She knew they could never move on from this place and live the life she envisioned if Stefan could not even control himself around a little girl's scratched knee. His moods were mercurial. He was distraught over his father and in the next second he was on the floor laughing. His sexual appetite was never satisfied, and he and Katherine were often on edge, waiting for Damon to slip off into the night when they wanted some privacy.

She worried they would spend so long in the same city waiting for Stefan to grow out of his capricious behavior that they would get caught. She needed to get rid of Damon, but she feared that the second he had his freedom Elena would be too vulnerable. She finally decided she would allow Damon his protection from the sunlight while she still stayed in Grove Hill. This way, she would be close enough should Elena need her help, and hopefully, Damon's control would falter for just a moment long enough to scare her off. It was a risk, but she had no other choice. Her only comfort was that if some horrible fate did befall Elena, she still had Jeremy to carry on the line. He was not her preferred choice, but he would do all the same.

Damon watched his home from a distance. It was early; the sun was still far from rising. He had been aggressively warned to avoid Jeremy. "He is involved with the council," Katherine had said the day before. "He is wary of vampires and you absolutely cannot trust him to keep your secret."

He was so desperate to see Elena that his body shook, but he was also very apprehensive about approaching his old home. "Every Salvatore who laid claim to that house is dead," Katherine explained. "Nothing can keep you out, even though you are not invited."

"But our uncle will likely arrive to claim the estate soon," Stefan reminded him. "Then you will be locked out again."

Now he worried that his uncle would be waiting for him behind the front door. His uncle Zachariah, who earned the nickname 'Goliath' in his youth was never fond of Damon. Even with his newfound strength, he questioned whether he would be able to stand against the man.

He sucked in a nervous, and completely unnecessary breath, running at full speed to the door. He was there in a second and even though he was nervous, he knew he could not loiter outside. He stepped over the threshold without a problem, and ascended the stairs without a sound. He wasted no time looking around, going straight to Elena's room and closing the door behind him. A black dress she had worn the day before lay on the floor. He thought it odd that it had not been put away, but it became clear why when he saw her face.

She slept still, her eyebrows drawn together as though she were having a bad dream. Deep circles shadowed her eyes and her mouth was turned down at a hard angle. Without his newfound sight, he would not have noticed that her nails had been chewed down to the quick. He could smell the dried blood that was caked under them. Her hair was a mess of curls, some falling into waves. Half of it was up and half of it was down. She must have sent her handmaid away before she got ready for bed the previous night.

These things were all unimportant though, as he focused on her heartbeat and tried to ward off the feeling of circulation being cut off from under his eyes. Something was off. He could hear her heart collapse with a thud, pushing blood from its chambers, and then fill up again with another thud, but then there was a third sound that threw off the steady beat of her pulse. A third and much quieter thud. He focused hard and all the thoughts of bloodlust drained from his body as the color did from his cheeks. It was the sound of another heartbeat.


	19. Culprits

**Chapter Nineteen**

**Culprits**

_Mystic Falls, Virginia_

_1865_

Damon ran. He wanted so badly to linger, to wake his love and to see her face when she realized he had come back to her, but the dissonant sound of two heartbeats chased him from the room. The sun had still not crossed the horizon, but the blue light of morning had spread across the yard. How long had he stood there before he fled? He could not say.

The look of her face was too much in every way; when he finally saw it in person, he was filled with such elation that it scared him. The smell of her perfume was too strong in his nose, no longer bringing the comfort it usually did. The sound of her breath was too heavy, although he had just hours ago been desperate to hear it.

If he could sweat, he would be drenched. He sucked in a big breath, but his lungs did not expand like they used to, and he was left feeling as though he could not get enough air. Blood rushed to his eyes and his teeth slid down from his gums. God, he was hungry. He fed before he came, of course. It had taken five fully-grown men to appease what felt like famine in his throat, and he fed on five more after that, just to be sure.

It was too much. He felt like he was being attacked from every corner of his mind and body. Every muscle ached, every nerve vibrated. He retreated to the woods from whence he came, his feet moving as fast as they ever had. Yet he was still so new at it all. He was too distracted to keep up with his feet. Sometimes they would carry him too close to a large tree, and he would stumble over the roots. Sometimes his legs would stop working like he wanted them to and he would slow to the pace of a human. Finally, he just stopped in the middle of the trees and sat on the ground like a child, shoving his face into his hands and letting the panic leak from his eyes and throat.

He could not get his emotions straight. Two visions of Elena attacked him from either side. On one, she was standing somewhere in the sun, somewhere that the warmth would engulf her and fill her smile and eyes. Her hair was down, and blowing in the breeze with her skirt. Pulling on her hand was a little boy, looking up at his mother like he had just watched her put the color in the sky. They were perfect.

On the other side was a pile of bodies, some wearing blue uniforms. Elena stuck out from the middle, her hand reaching out to him. Her body was covered in crescent shaped scars and blood covered her clothing and matted her hair to her face. Below her, he saw the hand of a child emerging from under a blue coat. This was his doing, he realized. He turned his back on them, unable to look at it anymore. Elena, the live one, smiled up at him, but the smile left her face when she met his eyes. The sun was too hot. It was burning him.

He was still gasping for air, his vision going black. His skin was angry and burning. Something grabbed his hand and he felt cool metal slide up his finger. The burning stopped.

He squinted upwards at the silhouette looking back down at him.

"Lapis lazuli," it said.

"Excuse me?"

"The stone in your ring, it is lapis lazuli."

Damon looked down to appraise what he was talking about. It was a gaudy thing, big and blue, with the letter 'S' and his family crest in the center. Emily had stolen them from Giuseppe's room after they fled. Stefan had one that was exactly the same. It allowed them both to walk in the sun, or it would as soon as Stefan was allowed his. That was all he knew.

"I have one as well," the man continued, holding up his hand. Indeed, his finger housed a large stone that matched Damon's.

It took a moment for Damon to comprehend. "You are –"

"A vampire."

Damon took a step back. Katherine had not instructed him on what to do if this happened.

"Pleased to meet you. My name is Frederick, and you are Damon Salvatore."

He nodded even though Frederick did not seem to be asking.

"I have been keeping a close eye on you," he smirked. "Your father headed the Council. If your fate is any indication, I assume he is not cause for concern any longer."

Damon looked to the ground. "You are the one they search for?"

"Me? No, not quite. Though I do have a vested interest in the one you speak of."

At that, another figure emerged from the darkness. She looked more like Damon than Frederick. Her eyes flicked around wildly like she was ready for an attack at any minute. Her muscles were tense and her teeth clenched together.

"Damon Salvatore," she breathed.

He knew her face. They went to the same church and the same school, at one point. She was one of the missing girls. "Annabelle."

She nodded. Nothing about her had changed, apart from the feral look in her eyes. She was always like a mouse, Damon remembered. She was five years his senior and still unmarried before she went missing. "You're dead," she said finally, after a long moment of appraising him.

"As are you."

She turned to Frederick, smiling at him sweetly, and for the moment, shedding her fearful demeanor. "I would disagree," she said.

"She discovered me in the woods," Frederick explained. "I was feeding on a deer – just something to give me the strength to make it to the next town. I feared she would expose me, but she never even ran."

"I thought he was God," she sighed, as though a girl musing over her childhood love.

"She offered me sustenance, which I took."

"Love at first sight…"

"We planned to going to run off together, so I turned her."

"You were the one who killed those people," Damon said to her. It occurred to him that she was partially to blame for the situation he was in now. Irritation struck the muscles in his stomach.

"It was an accident," she said earnestly. "I was still learning to control myself then."

"Why not leave?"

"My sister fell ill, and I could not leave until I knew she was better."

"They will be looking for you night and day now," Damon said. "You should go."

"Not until she is better!" Annabelle shouted, suddenly growing red in the face.

Damon looked to Frederick, confused, but then he understood. Frederick had not told her that she could heal her sister for the same reason Katherine had not told Elena.

"You risk being caught. The Council know more every day."

"Then why have _you _not gone?"

The sound of those heartbeats thudded in Damon's ears like drums. "I could not go even if I wanted to."

* * *

Damon waited another week before he went to see Elena again. Katherine had become ever more restless in their tiny room at the inn after she learned of Frederick and Annabelle's presence in Mystic Falls. They put Jeremy and Elena at risk, and now that they knew that Damon had turned, it was all too possible for them to tell someone else. She was becoming too traceable.

"Give your leave," she said, her face made of stone. "Tell her goodbye. Say whatever you must and go."

He begged her to allow Elena to join them. The thought of her alone, apart from him, was too much to bear.

"You know I cannot allow that," she said. "Not with Stefan this way. It will be better if you end things now."

He never planned on going with them, but he agreed anyway. In reality, he planned to desert the two as soon as they left. Whether Elena wanted him or not, he would always be there to make sure she was safe. He would always be there to make sure his child was safe.

Conversely, Katherine never intended to spend the rest of eternity with Stefan _and_ Damon. She only needed to get him as far away from Elena as possible.

Approaching her room, he was prepared for what he was about to face. He knew that the sound of life coming from Elena's body was his, and instead of worrying, he discarded any negative thoughts. Im his new life, it was so easy to forget the burden of fear.

She slept as she had last time, although her room had acquired a significantly larger amount of clutter. He had to pick up his feet to avoid stepping on any of the black garments littering the floor.

He sat on her bedside, brushing a lock of hair from her face. She woke suddenly, snatching his wrist with a gasp. There was a moment of silence between the two. Elena sat for a moment, trying to decide whether it was a dream. His arm was solid beneath her fingers, but she could not hear him breathe. He looked so out of place. His spine was too stiff, his gaze too piercing. If it were really him, wouldn't he be happy to see her? Wouldn't he be smiling? Now, he looked fearful and restless.

She fell back down to her pillow and covered her face with her arm, a sob escaping her throat.

"Elena?" he asked, rubbing his thumb over the hand that grasped his. "Why are you crying?"

"You are not real," she whispered. "You are not real. You are not real."

She said it so intensely that he wondered for a moment if she was right. "What do you mean?"

"Do not torture me like this. Do not show me your face if you can't be real."

He smiled a little, slipping his free hand under her back and pulling her upright. Her eyes were dark, questioning as he brought his lips to hers slowly. Her heartbeat grew loud and quick, but he shut his eyes and forced himself not to think of it.

When they pulled away from each other, Elena brought her hands to his face. He was there, right underneath her fingertips. She felt the sharp line of his jaw, and dragged her thumb over the smooth curve of his lips. Something was different about him. There was a fire that emitted from within, but his exterior was cool. "Where have you been?"

"To hell."

She thought of his dead body, lying stiffly on the bed. "Really?"

"Anywhere without you is hell, my love."

She rolled her eyes, but a smiled spread across her face like a dry river being replenished by the rain. She threw her arms around his neck and pulled herself close, throwing him backwards so she lay on top of him. Then she was kissing him all over; on the square of his jaw and the corner of his smile, on his eyelids and the tip of his nose, down his neck and on the tip of his collarbone.

He brought her face back down to his, kissing her lightly at first. Then, like a switch flipped in his brain, he kissed her as deeply as he could, for he could no longer restrain himself. In a second, he had rolled on top of her. Her eyes widened at the sudden speed and strength he possessed, but there was no fear in them. Only excitement. Only love.

He crashed down on top of her, too roughly, perhaps. He was like an unavoidable wave, and she let the swells pull her to the bottom of the sea. He wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her as close to him as possible and kissing down her neck and onto her chest. "Damon," she gasped. He smiled at the encouragement, but that was not her intention. It was becoming hard to breathe. She could feel the pulse in her fingers and toes from being squeezed to hard.

He could hear the blood pumping through her veins just a little louder now. Trying to hide his face, which he knew would scare her, he buried it in the hair by her neck. "Damon," she said again, this time a little more desperate.

Her voice didn't reach him. Now there was only the beating of her heart and the thin veil of flesh that separated him and what he wanted. Somewhere inside of him, a voice was creaming _No!_, but it was easy to mute. He wrapped his mouth around her neck, bracing his teeth against her soft skin, but was pulled from his trance by the sound of a guttural yelp and the crack of bones.

"Damon," she cried one final time, tears falling down her face. He sat up, releasing her from his grip. She looked up at him in horror and he tried to focus on calming himself. A jagged breath shook her body and she grasped at her ribs. "It hurts."


	20. A Lapse

**Chapter Twenty**

**A Lapse**

_Mystic Falls, Virginia_

_1865_

The agony in her eyes scared him.

How loud had she cried out? Could she have awakened her brother? He could not remember; it was all happening too fast. His mind jumped to the baby for a moment, but he could no longer hear the tiny heartbeat over Elena's loud one. The sound made it hard for him to hide his true face, but he was afraid to upset her more.

He drew in a deep breath, focusing himself. Gently, he his body off of hers. He wiped the tears from her cheek, trying to calm her as though she were a child. "I am so sorry, my love."

Her eyes flickered to him for a moment and then closed again in pain. He knew what he had to do. In whiskey-soaked memories, he could see Katherine's bloody wrist dripping over his mouth, and in clearer ones he could see her digging her finger into his stomach and then feeding her blood to him. He could do the same, but he was not sure how. "I will fix this, all right? _Be still_." She gasped in response.

He had not meant to compel her, but did so as easily as speaking. Her body went lax apart from her sniffling and low moans of pain. He observed the skin of his wrist, drawing his teeth out. It should have been so simple, but it was so unfamiliar to him. He winced at the pain of his teeth sinking into his skin, but it was a minor irritation compared to what he was expecting. He hardly felt it at all, really.

The little holes in his wrist were small, only yielding two little drops of blood. What if it was not enough? He brought his arm up again, this time biting into it as if it were someone he intended to kill. The holes grew into a crescent shaped pool of blood, each of his teeth making a mark in his skin. Again, it hardly felt like a pinch. He held his wrist to her mouth.

"_Drink_," he ordered, and she did. Her body was stiff with her arms locked firmly at her side. After a minute or two, they relaxed and the pain left her eyes. Damon withdrew his arm, which was completely healed, he noticed.

He sat guiltily and quietly, waiting for her to speak. "I did not know you were one of those," she said, her eyes still closed. "I thought Katherine was going to save you."

"She did." He took her hand in his. "See? I am here."

She could not find the words to speak again. A moment ago, she had been so sure it was him, but now? She was never sure if she could trust Katherine, and now Damon was just like her. Already, he almost killed her.

He took her face in his hands and kissed her so lightly she could hardly be sure he was there, and then once more, this time with more fervor. "Please, Elena, I am so sorry." Her eyes were full of distrust when they met his, but there was also tenderness there. Her expression put a sick feeling in his stomach. _This is not how it should to be_, he thought.

He took a moment, weighing the consequences of what he was about to do, but he could not stand her looking at him like that for one more second. "_Don't think of it anymore_," he said slowly, although he feared he was not doing it right. Katherine said he could make anyone do anything if he only looked into their eyes and simply wished it. He wished for nothing more, and his eyebrows were stiff in the middle of his forehead as he focused on her irises. "_It will be as if this never happened. You know that I am a vampire, but I would never harm you. You are not scared of me._ Do you understand?"

She shut her eyes again, as though she were processing everything he said. When they opened, all the tension in them had bled away. She wrapped her arms around his neck and the smile came back to her face.

"Why did you stop?" she sighed.

He paused, unsure whether the compulsion had worked. "What do you mean?"

Pulling his shirt back just a tad, she raised her head up to kiss the sliver of exposed skin on his clavicle. "Why did you stop kissing me?"

Everything was right in the world once again. His lips returned to her neck and chest, although he was far more controlled this time, never for a second allowing himself to get lost in the way she gasped or giggled. He could not afford to. Now there were only the sounds of her heartbeat and the child's that made up for his missing one. He placed a hand over her belly, which she thought odd, though it felt right to have it there.

The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs put an end to it all. Damon stilled, and urged Elena to be quiet by putting a finger to his lips. Before she could ask what was wrong, a knock came on the door. Elena sat up nervously, but Damon was already under the bed. "Send them away," he whispered before ducking his head back under.

She kicked her way through the floor full of garments, only allowing the door to open a crack when she got to it. "Good morning, Miss Elena," Damon heard someone say. It was a woman, her maid, most likely.

"I'm not feeling well," Elena said brusquely.

"You weren't feeling well yesterday either. You haven't been feeling well since John's accident." Damon wondered if that's what they were calling it now.

"I just want to rest today."

The voice was growing increasingly exasperated. "You need to eat something."

"Later, perhaps."

There was a moment of silence between the two and then the door closed. Damon waited until Elena's footsteps came back to the bed and she was reaching under to pull him out.

"We need to go," he huffed, his hair tousled from being rubbed against the bottom of the bed.

Elena, completely calm again, sidled up to him. "What do you mean?" she purred. Damon thought back to the time when there was only just a stiff tenderness between them. Had they really been so distant once? It wasn't so long ago that he could only hope that she would lean her leg against his underneath the dinner table. Now, the tips of his fingers had run over the planes of her body a hundred times; they had walked every path and climbed every peak. She leaned into him with the ease and trust that she had never before felt with anyone, not with her mother or brother, and certainly not with her father.

Damon felt a pang of guilt for a moment when he realized that the comfort he saw in her eyes was not her own. Still, he was all too pleased when he saw how easy it was to shoo that feeling away, soaking up the sunlight in her gaze instead.

"We can't go now," she said, weaving her fingers into his and leaving a trail of kisses up his neck. "We have only just begun to settle in."

He thought for sure he would melt. It would only take the whisper of her breath in his ear, the feeling of one more kiss lingering on his skin long after her lips parted and he would be reduced to a puddle on the ground. Before that happened, though, he stood back, leaving her looking at him with confused eyes and a frown. "Elena," he began, weighing each word carefully. "You know I cannot remain here, don't you?"

She looked at him sadly. It was answer enough for him.

"You know that things cannot be as they were, not in Mystic Falls."

Her eyes turned to the floor and she slowly receded within herself. Visions of a future without Damon flashed before her eyes, yet no tears came to her eyes. Her emotions had been so tampered with, they all bled together now. Stress whirled around in her stomach and she feared she would be ill in front of him.

Hearing the jump of her heartbeat, he came to her side, reaching down to take one of her hands in his and brushing the hair from her face. She looked up at him with eyes made of fear and a mouth taut with distress. After a few moments, he found her eyes. "I can't make you do anything," he paused then, realizing his mistake. "I _won't_ make you do anything. I only want to give you happiness, and if that means I have to leave you behind, I will do that for you."

Her eyes grew wide and she opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off before she did.

"You could come with me."

Silence, then. A hundred questions passed through her eyes, but she was so shocked, she remained silent. What about Jeremy? What about her home? Her mother was here, as was her father. She had never known anything else.

"I would like very much for you to come with me," he said quietly. "I would always take care of you. I would protect you. I would never leave your side. Even when you have grown feeble with age, I would carry you in my arms. If you will have me, that is."

_Because you will still be young and strong_, she thought. _Just like Katherine._ Again, her body felt differently from her mind. Nervousness tingled in her spine. "Where would we go?" she said finally.

"Everywhere," he smiled. "We can explore the world, and when we have seen everything, we will take to the stars."

She laughed at that; it had always been a source of fascination for her. "What will we do for money? For food?"

He hesitated, deciding it was best to leave his dietary habits out of this conversation. "I can make things happen, Elena. Anything you want is yours."

All she wanted was Damon, and he was standing right in front of her, offering her the world in the palm of his hand. All she had to do was take it. She thought of what would happen if she said no. He would leave and she would go on as she had, living her life looking out of windows, waiting for the boy next door to walk up the path. Until she married, she would live in the distrust and distance of her brother, then her husband, who would no doubt have heard the rumors of her involvement with vampires. She would have as many babies as her husband liked, and it would hurt to look at them when they were missing the part that was supposed to be Damon. Like so many mothers she saw growing up, her children would become the center of her universe. She would hover around them, just to ease her own pain. Then she would not have to face a husband whom she could never really love.

The path in which she said yes was much foggier, but Damon stood at the end, and that was all that mattered, wasn't it?

"What about Jeremy? Could we come back and see him one day?"

He couldn't guarantee that, but he was desperate. "If that's what you want."

She looked at him for a moment longer before turning to the desk next to her window. She pulled out a sheet of paper and began writing hurriedly. The ink of the pen dripped and splattered along the page, but she did not bother to get a fresh sheet. Her body sat in his line of sight, but as she folded the letter in a neat square, he briefly caught a glimpse of her messy handwriting.

_All of my love and more_,

_Elena Gilbert._


	21. Sharing

**Chapter Twenty-One**

**Sharing**

_Mystic Falls, Virginia_

_1865_

Blood-sharing is cohesive. For a vampire to repeatedly take blood from the same living source, the same soul, bonds them to that person, and even more so when they give their own in return.

Any human is good to feed on, no matter their taste or their looks, and a vampire proves that by going through so many in such a short time. To feed, kill, let them live - none of it matters as long as there is fresh blood making its way to the heart. It is different, however, when the same veins sustain a vampire for a long period of time. Like a child at the breast of its mother, a vampire develops deeply rooted attachments to their source of life.

Generally, this is most common a vampire is in love. The emotions have become so strong that love, lust, and hunger are hard to distinguish from each other. It all becomes the same. Though vampire and human relationships are rare and often short-lived, it is even rarer to come upon a couple who do not cooperate like parasite and prey.

Vampires are more likely to share their blood with their own kind, rather than humans. The erotic and animalistic nature of these beasts leads them to activities such as feeding on one another, especially during sex. The elevation in mood and stimulus combined with the carnal knowledge of the other being who shares the same strength, emotional vulnerability, and euphoric pleasure drives many to treat blood sharing as a drug. With humans, though, sharing blood is a much greater risk.

Those vampires who are aged and well-versed in the nature of their kind know the risk of feeding a human blood. If one small thing goes wrong, they risk exposure from some insignificant fledgling who cannot yet control itself. Moreover, blood is the last living part of a vampire. Without it, the creature is truly dead. Some instinct deep within a vampire tells them to part with it sparingly.

Still, some like to recreate the intoxication of blood sharing. There are a few who are aroused by the sight of a human enduring the high. Others, deeming themselves some sort of dark heroes, do so to help those in mortal danger. They roam war camps or hospitals, waiting for someone who is worth saving. Mostly, however, their blood is used to cover tracks. Those feeding on someone they do not intend to kill will heal their victim in order to avoid exposure.

Damon Salvatore had a mix of these habits. When he and Elena originally left Mystic Falls, they avoided any trouble longer than one would expect. When they arrived at the inn at Grove Hill late in the night, Katherine and Stefan immediately detected something wrong with Elena. Stefan could not even stay in the room. Though he had displayed better use of self-control in the last weeks, the sound of two heartbeats in one body proved too much for him. He promptly excused himself to find someone more appropriate to feed on.

Katherine was furious with Damon, of course. He had taken her niece away from her home without her permission, and worse, impregnated her. In her rashness, she threw him against the fireplace, breaking his arm and leaving a significant dent in the sturdy brick. She vowed to take Elena back as soon as Stefan returned, but as they waited, she began to think about it. In this situation, everyone got what they wanted. Elena was happy, Damon could live, and what was more important, Katherine had her heir.

She briefly considered the possibility of Damon harming either Elena or the child, but quickly discarded it. He was too soft, even as a vampire. He could protect Elena and the child, and as long as he did not harm her while pregnant, then everyone would be happy. All she had to do was keep an eye on them both, perhaps killing him one day should he become a problem.

Instead of sending Damon away, she decided they should relocate to the next town over in case there was a search for Elena. Reluctantly, Katherine allowed Damon and Elena to stay in their own room next to hers and Stefan's. Stefan had finally earned enough his daylight ring, and he and Katherine spent most of their days and nights in town, looking for mischief and perhaps a hot meal. When they returned, Katherine would anxiously go straight to Elena to ensure she was well, and she always was. Elena was forbidden to be out of her room after dark, and if Damon ever made Katherine doubt even for a moment that he could not control himself around her, he would be _removed_, so to speak.

He had no problems in the beginning. They continued on as before, although slowed by the process of Damon learning to control himself around her. They spent every possible minute together. He would tell her what it was like to be a vampire and for whatever reason, it did not upset her. She would read to him and soothe him when his emotions became overwhelming. He learned how to touch and caress her with his newfound strength. She learned when to tell him if his grip was too tight. They made love. They laughed. They were together, and that is all either of them wanted.

Elena was so infatuated with her new life that she wore the ring Katherine gave her on her ring finger, and when they went about town, they would introduce themselves as a married couple. This began only after Elena learned she was pregnant.

Still so naive, she did not see the signs until late. When she grew ill at the same time every night right after the sun went down, she only thought it was something she ate. This went on for weeks until one night, while she lay in bed after a bout of especially horrid vomiting, she gazed down at herself. Her body was still long, and her legs were still lean, but there was something about her belly that looked different. It protruded slightly as though she had been eating very well, which she had been. However, her breasts had grown and were often so tender that she forbade Damon from touching them. She was never told outright the symptoms of pregnancy, but she knew enough.

Stefan and Katherine were out, as always, as was Damon, who spent most of his nights feeding. She looked around at the dim and empty room, which was quiet except for her own nervous breathing, and she was suddenly overcome with loneliness and fear. She sat up as she broke into a confused sob, wrapping her arms around her little belly and cradling it.

It took a hearty effort by both Katherine and Damon to calm her when they returned. First came Katherine, who stumbled in with Stefan early in the morning. They were drunk on wine – or perhaps drunk on someone who was drunk on wine – but Katherine sobered immediately at the sight of a tear-soaked Elena. Stefan went to their room, avoiding her as usual, but Katherine came to her side and put her arm around her in an odd display of affection. She had hoped to wait a little longer to talk with Elena about it, but there was no time to put it off now.

She gave Elena a lesson on what was happening to her body, warning her of what to expect and what she could no longer do as a pregnant woman. She told her stories of what it had been like for her so long ago, when times were very different and medicine was not as advanced. The talk, though informative, simply left Elena more shaken and fearful than she was before. She woke up that morning thinking babies came from women's navels, but she went to sleep with a much different image in her head.

Damon came next with his sweet words and reassurances. He lay back with her on the bed, nuzzled his face in her soft hair, and she tried to ignore the stench of blood on his breath.

It was Emily who eventually reassured her that everything was going to be fine. She had not been staying with the four since they deserted Grove Hill. Actually, Elena was not sure where she had been staying, but every time Katherine needed something, Emily was there.

She let herself into the room, cautiously sitting next to Elena on the bed. "How are you, Miss Elena?"

Elena looked down at her still growing belly and began to sob again. She had been doing that a lot lately. "Well," she squeaked. "Thank you."

Emily smiled gently and took her hand, rubbing her thumb over it. "Why are you sad, child?"

Their eyes met and Elena wondered at how beautiful Emily was. She looked no older than herself, so she wondered if 'child' was the appropriate way to address her. Then again, Elena had only just learned of Emily's dealings with magic. Perhaps she did not age. "I am not sad," she lied.

"Then why do you weep?"

The tears rushed forward again. "I don't know."

Emily offered a handkerchief, which Elena took gratefully, dabbing it under her eyes. "I think you do." There was a moment of silence between the two and Elena glanced at the door. "They are gone," Emily reassured. "You can speak freely."

Elena nodded, taking a minute to choose her words. "Do you think the baby will be like Damon?"

"He is the father, is he not?"

"Of course!" Elena scoffed. "I just - I won't know how to feed him if he... is like Damon."

"Oh, dear," Emily smiled sadly. "There is no need to worry about that."

"You are sure?"

"I promise."

Elena let out a deep sigh, wrapping her arms tighter around her belly. Of course, she wanted the baby to be a replica of Damon. Boy or girl, she wanted it to have his smile and his eyes. She could picture a little raven-haired toddler running around in a grassy yard somewhere while they looked on. She would have loved it even if it did have a predilection for blood, but it comforted her to know it would not.

Emily took Elena's hand and placed her palm against the lower half of her belly, holding her own hand directly over it. "A baby is the purest thing in this world, Miss Elena. Did you know that?"

Elena shook her head no but kept her eyes down at the hands on her belly. It grew warmer the longer Emily stayed there.

"Fire destroys, water decomposes, and air is filled with the dust of the earth. But a child's soul, its humanity, is untouched. There is no fear, no doubt, no discrimination. They are _tabula rasa_, blank slates. Do you know what corrupts it first?"

"What?"

"Love, then happiness."

A smile came across Elena's face, she liked that thought.

"You called it a he, you know," Emily said.

"Did I?"

Emily nodded.

Elena closed her eyes and smiled. Perhaps she did want a boy, another little Damon, or perhaps she knew, deep down inside, what it was. Mothers were supposed to have intuition, after all.

* * *

That night, Elena dreamt Emily had come to see her again. _"You will be so happy when you meet her,"_ she said.

_"Her?"_

_"There is nothing like holding your child for the first time. Every mother knows that a woman's heart never truly beats until she holds her first child."_

Elena wanted to ask what she meant, but Emily was gone, replaced by fog.

* * *

After that, Emily came to visit often. She would keep Elena company when everyone was out feeding. They spent hours together talking or reading, and when Elena had a question about the baby, Emily would answer, no matter how embarrassing it was.

Elena was happy with things again. She loved to flaunt her pretend-husband around town, talking with the ladies in the shops about baby names. When they came home, they would plan their actual marriage. They would talk of where they wanted to end up and what color they would paint the walls of their home. Damon's favorite thing was to place his head on her stomach and listen to the sound of the baby's heart. It calmed him, reassured him that this was where he was meant to be.

His eating habits became problematic not long after their departure from Grove Hill. Something about Elena's pregnancy made her even more alluring than usual. The changes inside her made her skin smell different. Her breasts had grown swollen and ripe, and her skin was taut around her body. She was glowing and succulent and he could not seem to keep himself away her. She did not mind, for she might have been even more ravenous.

One night, when she was especially bothered by Damon's absence, she stayed up late, reading one of the many books that he had given her as a gift. She glanced at the clock on the mantle repeatedly, wishing time would pass more quickly. He came back early, though, and she immediately saw something was wrong. "Damon?" she asked nervously.

He smiled gently. "Stefan and I had words. I was not in the mood to see him anymore."

She opened her arms and he joined her on the bed, falling into her embrace. He smiled inwardly at the warmth that surrounded him. "Words about what?" she asked.

"He was not being careful enough," he sighed. "At first I thought he was dancing with a girl, which is strange, because he is only supposed to dance with Katherine, but when I got closer I saw his face buried in her neck."

Elena ran her thumb over his jaw, hugging him to her. The stories of their assaults on the unsuspecting townspeople did not make her so uncomfortable anymore.

She could smell the blood on his breath like always. Perhaps it was the baby inside of her, but something about it comforted her now. It was sweet in her nose. Before, it was just something she ignored, something she could not understand.

Her lips made their way to his slowly. She wanted to distract him from his exasperation, she hoped to cheer him up, and what's more, she wanted to taste him. She pushed against his mouth softly, and he smiled against her lips. She liked the taste of him like this, she realized.

After a moment, she swung her leg over him, so she was on his lap. Katherine had warned that her self-control would be all but nonexistent in her condition, but it was worse than that. She ached for him. She held his face roughly to hers and his hands circled over her back, yet she could feel the reluctance in them. She pressed harder against him still, rubbing herself against his body. His resistance was feeble.

He stifled a moan; something was not right. He had not fed enough and his veins strained and vibrated under his skin. Each time her heart pumped he could feel the blood rush though her body, right beneath her skin, right against his. When she pulled away to kiss his ear and down his neck, he realized his true face was showing. Elena must not have seen, or she did not act as if she had. He grabbed her by the arms and tried to push her back, but she was not so easily deterred.

"Damon," she breathed, and it was so quiet he might not have heard it without a vampire's ear. The sound sent shivers down his spine as he rubbed his hands up the skin of her legs under her gown.

It occurred to him that he might need to leave and feed after all. The thought came a second too late because Elena was already pushing him back down against the soft covers of the bed. She was kissing him again, her eyes closed and her hands roaming as they liked, but Damon could still feel the blood rushing to eyes. If she opened hers for just a second, she might never want to look at him again.

Only a second passed after that before he lost control. It was all because of the poorly – or perfectly, if you prefer – timed combination of her whispering some sweet thing in his ear that no respectable girl would have ever even thought as she dragged his hands down to the place between her legs. He could not control himself then. He wanted her, and any vampire who wants, _needs_. He could not walk away. Not now. He flipped her on her back, and when she opened her eyes the sight of a monster met her. She had seen it before, but it was a shock nonetheless.

She reached up and touched the skin of his face with childlike wonder, finally looking without fearing. "You are beautiful," she breathed.

Damon felt chills spread down his back and guilt slid up his throat. She could accept him, he realized. His nature did not have to a barrier between them. It did not have to be an elephant in the room, but his mind was cloudy and she was in his nose and all around his body. He struggled with the temptation for a moment longer, and his breath was heavy because he regretted what was inevitable.

"Elena?"

"Damon," she purred and, God, her voice sounded like music. It was that voice he heard when he cried himself to sleep at camp and again when he almost died on the battlefield.

Something twisted inside of his stomach. He saw a flash of something behind his eyelids. A gunshot rang throughout his brain and he flinched. There was the smell of the sinks, a man screeching for his own death.

Elena was confused, his eyes were upon her but they were looking at something unseen. His eyebrows creased, his mouth was turned down in some kind of horror.

_She can deliver you from the pain_, said a voice within him. _Take her like laudanum. Morphine. Everything will be quiet._

Her pulse was rushing against his skin, he could see it in her throat, hear it in her breath. She opened her mouth to ask what was troubling him, but he burrowed his face in her neck before she could speak.

What was at first a pinch became a burning, throbbing, inescapable pain. She pushed against his shoulders with her arms, but he was heavy like a stone, his grasp hardening around her body. "All right, Damon," she gasped. "Enough."

She could not understand that Damon was no longer there. Her hand wrapped around her belly as though she could protect the little one inside and she struggled under him. "Damon," she was firm now, verging on panic. "Stop!"

"Just a little more," he growled.

Tears filled her eyes and she struggled harder. "Stop! Please!" she begged.

He pulled away then. For a moment, he just allowed her blood to run through his system. What was it about _her_, specifically, that made her blood so good, so sweet? He didn't care. All he could do was revel in the warmth that spread through his system, all the way down to his toes and up to his brain.

Frenzy replaced his nirvana when he saw her face. She turned her face away from his, grasping at her neck and stomach. Tears had already begun to wet the pillow under her. He dismissed his own distress easily and grew calm. "Elena," he said sweetly. "Look at me."

She looked up at him with the same distrust in her eyes as when she first found out he was a vampire.

"_Just forget all about this, darling._" He dug into his wrist with his teeth. "_Don't be frightened. Everything is fine_."


	22. Plans

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

**Plans**

_Virginia_

_1865_

Elena inhaled deeply, taking in the warm air with a smile. Spring would come to an end soon, and she cringed at the thought of walking around in the heat once summer came. It felt good now, though. A breeze shielded her from the sun's stronger rays, but she was warm enough that she could feel her feet and hands. In the past months, she had noticed that they were so cold that they grew numb. A doctor they had long since left behind told her it could be a symptom of poor circulation, but nothing to worry about. She did not think of it again.

Since the love of her life died, perhaps even earlier, Elena had struggled with her faith. Before, she was known for her devotion to the church, but she had grown hesitant. It occurred to her that it was because love made her selfish. When Damon left, she asked God why. When he was gone for months and months, she prayed every day that He kept him safe. When she learned of Damon's injury, she began to doubt His kindness. When he was dead, and she looked into his eyes that were cold and blank, she did not see God. She did not see the Devil either. She saw nothing. Once Damon had returned to her, though, she began to feel guilty. Damon had come back to her, and in the end, all was well. She knew it was time for her to return.

Around her, men, women, and children went this way and that. All of them, including her, had just finished at church, and now they were busy socializing and making plans. Elena did not know a single person. She sat quietly on a little bench outside the door.

The air was filled with the sweet smell of celebration. The war was over. Soon the soldiers would come home and the South could rebuild. Damon still had not yet come back to escort her home. He had to leave early, with Stefan in tow, when they both found that sitting in the small room packed with bodies was much more distracting than they thought. Katherine had not come, of course, so it was up to Damon to ensure that his brother made it a safe distance away. The thought of leaving with them crossed Elena's mind, but she decided to stay. She could not keep up with either of them anyway, and her presence would only overwhelm Stefan.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Damon approaching from afar, but even at this distance she could tell he was itching to run in that scary way he did. He was like a child with a new toy. He wanted to run and use his new strength so much that he felt he had no use for walking normally anymore. He had no choice here, though, in the presence of humans.

She stood and laid a hand on her belly, which was much bigger now, though Katherine said she was still far from done growing. As she began walking toward him, she could see his agitation grow. His hands twitched at his sides and his smile was forced. He hated for her to walk alone, for fear that she would grow exhausted without his arm to lean on. If they were alone, he would be at her side in a moment, but they weren't, and someone was always watching.

Admittedly, fatigue did begin to creep up her legs and seep into her lungs the longer she walked, but she smiled anyway, trying to keep her breathing steady. Finally, when they were just close enough and he could not longer bear it, he did run – as fast as a human could, anyway. It made her laugh to see him in such a hurry.

"Darling," he sighed, relieved when she was at his side. He snaked a hand around her back and wrapped the fingers of his other around the hand on her belly. She smiled widely, as she always did when he was around, and he placed a soft kiss on her cheek, allowing his lips to linger there for just a second too long.

"Are you feeling well?" she asked him.

"I am fine," he said, rolling his eyes. "I could have lasted the whole service, but Stefan was behaving strangely. I noticed he was no longer breathing nearly halfway through. I thought it best he left."

"I am glad you removed him."

She was. Only a few weeks after he earned his daylight ring, he lost it. Even though Katherine would not say anything, Stefan eventually told his brother she had caught him in a brothel. Anyone who was still living when she discovered him was just barely so. They had to flee much farther and quicker than normal that night, and Stefan lost his ring for nearly a month. Damon had tirelessly dedicated himself to keeping him under control ever since.

"I thought he would be embarrassed if I said something, so I told him I was uncomfortable."

"You are good to him."

"He is my brother." She took his arm and they began walking down the beaten path. "What about you? You sound tired."

She smiled at him. Worry covered his whole face. "I am always tired, my love."

"I just wish I could take the burden off of you."

"You shouldn't fret, it will all be worth it in the end," she said, gazing down at the bump under her gown.

He grew giddy then, as he often did when they spoke of the baby. "How is she?"

"She?" Elena laughed.

"You've taken to calling it a 'he.' I would not want it to feel pressured in either direction. A little Elena running around would not be so bad."

"You could not handle two of us," she smirked.

"And you believe two of _me_ would be a walk in the garden?"

She squeezed his arm tighter and leaned her head against his shoulder for just a moment. "As long as I have you."

"What should we call it?"

"The baby?" she asked, turning to look at him again.

"Yes."

"I always thought we could name the first one after my father if it's a boy, or your mother if it's a girl."

"The first one?"

She stopped dead in her tracks and heat rose to her cheeks. She was not thinking as she spoke. He held his hand out to her, his eyes sympathetic. He could feel her heartbeat pick up and her face was tight as though she were holding back tears.

Elena cried often. Katherine had told him it was his job to be there for her. He was not very good at it at first, but he figured it out after a while. Normally, she only needed to hear a few soothing words. It would be harder this time, he realized, because her tears were not simply from breaking a bowl or tearing her dress; these were the tears she would have shed at his funeral, had he needed one. "I-" she started but the words did not come to her.

"Come," he said softly. "We can get you some dinner."

As they walked in silence, Elena thought about what she just said. She had honestly never considered that this would be her first and last child by Damon. This would be the last time she felt like this. In her dreams, they had a bounty of children. Now she was down to one. Church was still on her mind and she thought about how she should be grateful to have a child at all. _I am lucky_, she assured herself silently, but the thought did not ring true. Feelings of grief, still muted from Katherine's compulsion, battled with the grief for all of her children she would never have, for the life with Damon that she would never see.

She let her tears flow freely. By now, she knew there was no use in trying to stop them. Damon held tightly to her hand, stroking his thumb over her fingers. "Lily or Grayson?" he said, finally.

"Hmm?"

"You said you liked the names Lily and Grayson."

She nodded, sniffling a little.

"I love them."

"You do?"

"They're perfect."

She smiled a little, willing the tears away, but they just kept coming.

"Whether one child or one hundred, it will always be enough for me." He stopped her then and put a hand over her stomach. "This is us, Elena. Whether we have one or one hundred, I' will be happy still. All I need is you and her."

"Him," she joked, trying not to cry, but it just came harder. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her forehead. "I love you," she said, muffled by his coat. She held on to him tightly and as she inhaled him, she thanked God for the hundredth time that he was by her side. Perhaps she as not so distanced from her faith after all.

When they finally returned home, which was just another inn where they stayed (free of charge, of course), Damon kept his word and brought Elena food. First, he helped her up the stairs and out of her Sunday best, putting her gently into bed and fetching her book from across the room. He gave her a small kiss on the cheek before going to find some food. While she ate and read, pretending not to notice the aching in her feet, he went to check on Stefan, who looked like a dead body sprawled out on his bed. Technically, he was.

"Brother," Stefan said, sounding exasperated. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Control yourself."

Damon chuckled, sitting on the bed next to him as he sat up. "It's ironic isn't it?"

"What?"

"You were always the stiff one."

Stefan laughed. "If only I were now."

"It takes time," Damon assured. "It becomes easier the longer you deny yourself."

"I'm just so easy to persuade, and even worse, I'm easily persuaded."

"I will be here for you, Stefan. We have a whole lifetime and more to figure it out."

Stefan smacked his brother's shoulder in thanks before standing up to pour himself a glass of whiskey. It was the good stuff, stolen a couple of towns back. "How is Elena?"

"Drained, as I expected. She is eating now."

He nodded awkwardly, handing Damon a glass and taking his own into his hands. "Speaking of draining and eating the women in our life…"

"Not now," Damon said rolling his eyes.

"Humor me!" Stefan laughed. "Katherine loves to be bitten, I was just wondering if it runs in the family."

Whatever subtlety Stefan had in life was long gone, or hidden behind his blood lust. Now, he thought it was entertaining to make people squirm. It was a trait all vampires possessed deep down, but Damon had a better sense of discretion. "You know I would never do that that, brother." His voice was tight, partly because of his brother's behavior, partly because he was lying.

"You have not even thought about it?"

"Of course not."

"It would be easy, you know." He knew. "You could compel her to forget, or better, compel her to be willing."

Damon could not even look Stefan in the eye. Had he really grown so cold? "You make me think I cannot trust you around her."

"You probably can't," Stefan shrugged. "I can't be trusted around anyone, these days."

A low snarl rose in Damon's throat at the thought.

"Worry not. I'm only teasing." He finished his glass and poured another. "I wish Katherine were human some days."

"If she were, we would not be sitting be here."

"I like to think her blood would be sweet like candy. As feisty as she is, I would have to fight her for it."

"I bet she would win."

"Against a vampire?"

"She's smarter than you, smarter than us all. You would end up with a stake in your heart."

"Perhaps I would be better off that way."

The thought stuck with Damon as he made his way back to his room. Some days it was like his brother had never even existed and some monster was walking around with his face. His heart felt heavy in his chest. Elena had fallen asleep; her book lay open and facing downward on her belly. She still had bread in her hand and little crumbs on her chest. He smiled, tucking away thoughts of his brother and taking the bread out of her hand. Her breath hitched and her eyes fluttered open at the movement. "Oh, I didn't mean to fall asleep."

He smiled and sat at her side, wiping a little crumb from her cheek. Her smile was embarrassed. "You needed the rest."

"It is too early to rest."

He nudged her arm and she scooted over a little, allowing him to crawl up next to her and settle into her warmth on the mattress. His hand settled in his favorite spot on her belly as she pulled the covers up over him. This is where he wanted to be for the rest of his life. "Sleep a little longer," he said softly. "We can go to the theatre tonight."

"I am a grown woman," she pouted. "I don't need naps."

"Won't you do it for me?" he said sweetly.

"I am not tired," she said, turning to him with a mischievous eye. "Perhaps you could wear me out?"

Could he say no? He hardly stood a chance as she leaned over him, drawing her breath across his neck. Stefan's words rang out loudly in his mind.

_You can compel her to forget._

He could feel her sliding her gown up over her knees. Guilt simmered in the back of his brain as he struggled to keep his human face. He knew feeding on Elena was wrong, but he could still taste the memory of her blood on his tongue. She struggled to pull him on top of her, but his body was rigid. Only one moment's weakness could result in a total loss of control.

She took his face into her hands and forced him to look at her. "What is wrong, my love?"

He took a moment to compose himself, pasting a gentle smile on his face so as not to worry her. His hand found its way onto her neck, resting just above her jugular, and he could feel the blood rushing in and out. "I did not mean to upset you. It was a long day."

She frowned, slowly detaching herself from him. The lust drained from her cheeks and now they were pink with embarrassment. "Oh."

"You are upset?"

"Of course I'm not."

"You are pouting."

She sat up, forcing him to the side. He lay back on the pillows, rubbing her back. "I do not pout," she said, hugging her knees to her chest.

"Then I must be blind."

"You are!" she blurted. "You cannot possibly see how much I want you, Damon." Her hand slid up under his shirt and her nails dragged against his skin softly. "I think about you all day." She took his hand and placed his palm against her cheek, kissing his wrist softly when it came close to her mouth. "You are in all of my dreams." He sat up, never taking his eyes off of her. "You are inescapable." She kissed him, and though she looked like she was in some other world, he never shut his eyes.

"Elena..."

"You have surpassed me," she said. "I can no longer keep up with you; yo are too fast, too awesome."

"That is not true."

She pulled herself up and swung her leg over his body so she was sitting in his lap. "I can only surpass you her, like this."

He tried to blink the red away from his eyes, but she was kissing his jaw, leaving her clavicle totally exposed to his mouth that was open from drawing in ragged breaths.

When she came back to face him, he ducked his head away from her. She pushed his chin up to face her again, staring straight into his red eyes. "Do not hide from me," she said quietly. "Do not be ashamed of what you are."

His ears grew hot with shame.

"I only wish you could want me like I want you. I wish you did not have to restrain yourself."

"I am sorry."

"Don't be," she smiled, kissing the veins that stood out under his eyes. "Don't hide yourself from me. If you need me to back away so you can take a breath, tell me."

"You won't be angry?"

"I can find other ways for you to make it up to me," she smirked.

Elena never knew until later; her memories were long compelled away. Damon never did as he was asked. Instead, when he felt the desire for Elena's blood arise, he let it wash over him. Almost every night he took her blood, listening to her cry all the while. When it was over, he pet her hair and whispered kind things in her ear. She always awoke the next morning in seemingly perfect health; never a memory of Damon's indulgence remained.

Sometimes he would struggle with the guilt for a moment, telling himself that it was wrong, but Stefan was right: it was so easy to convince himself otherwise.

* * *

The young couple lived in perfect bliss for months. The summer was hot and Elena walked with great difficulty under the weight of the child. Emily came to visit less often, but Elena cherished their their time together more as a result. It had a few weeks since they had seen each other.

She was gone on one of Katherine's secretive errands for nearly two months before Elena saw her again. When she returned, Emily immediately noticed that something amiss. Her smile never faltered, though, for fear of upsetting Elena. She looked happy, ecstatic even. Her smile was almost as big as her belly, but something was certainly wrong.

Damon sat in the chair next to her, his leg crossing in front of her as if to draw a line for any potential predators who might come close. _He is an animal after al_l, Emily thought. She tried to pay him no mind, as she did with most vampires, but something about the air in the room was off. Too cold, she thought, or maybe too warm. She wrapped Elena in her arms upon approaching, stepping over Damon's leg and swallowing delight at his discontent. "Emily!" Elena squealed. "You can't know how I've missed you!"

"It has been too long," she agreed. "Look how big you are getting!"

Elena smiled down at her belly, knotting her hands together on top of it. "Won't be long now."

Emily's hand reached out towards it to feel, and she could have sworn she heard a snarl in the bottom of Damon's throat. Not even the polite and charming Salvatores could avoid becoming territorial madmen once they transitioned; it was in a vampire's nature to be that way.

Her hand grasped at the fabric of Elena's dress, and she suppressed a small gasp. She was met by an ice cold chill and the vision of a crow. No heat came from within her. Something was wrong.


	23. Death

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

**Death**

_Virginia_

_1865_

It ended with the cold.

A chill washed over the town with a layer of ice that frosted the trees and grass. Elena was always near the hearth, her big smile lit up by the fire and Damon watching over her protectively. All the sweetness had almost gone out of him. Only Emily knew something was wrong by the barren wind blowing underneath Elena's skin.

There was silence after. Elena's body had grown frail. Things were growing more tense as each day passed. Elena was the only one of them who smiled anymore. As she grew weaker, Damon and Katherine grew more domineering. No matter how tired she was, she was always able to reassure Katherine that visiting yet another doctor would not be necessary. She would still laugh and talk with Emily, and she had even begun reading with Stefan as she used to. When Damon was anxious, and he often was, she would lay his head in her lap and stroke his hair. She would hum quietly until his eyelids grew heavy and he was filled with the sound of her voice and the baby's heartbeat.

Until one day, he wasn't.

Elena was so tired that day, but she stayed up late just to wait for him. He returned from the hunt with a smile on his face, but it quickly fell away. Something was wrong, but he could not immediately say what.

He went straight to bed, crawling to her and nestling against her belly, as always. He closed his eyes, listening for any signs of danger over the sound of her song.

_"Tell me the tales that to me were so dear,_

_Long, long ago, long, long ago._

Her voice was sweet like honey and light as a feather. The beat of her heart grew slower as she drifted toward sleep.

_Sing me the songs I delighted to hear,_

_Long, long ago, long ago._

_Now you are come all my grief is removed,_

_Let me forget that so long you have roved._

_Let me believe that you love as you loved,_

_Long, long ago, long ago."_

Damon listened until his head was pounding, but he heard no potential danger.

_"Do you remember the paths where we met?_

_Long, long ago, long, long ago.._

_Ah, yes, you told me you'd never forget,_

_Long, long ago, long ago._

_Then to all others, my smile you preferred,_

_Love, when you spoke, gave a charm to each word._

_Still my heart treasures the phrases I heard,_

_Long, long ago, long ago."_

Footsteps came up the stairwell. A door shut. Laughter seeped through the wall into their room.

_"Though by your kindness my fond hopes were raised,_

_Long, long ago, long, long ago."_

_"You by more eloquent lips have been praised,_

_Long, long ago, long, long ago."_

A bed creaked. Someone sighed from below. It was too quiet.

_"But, by long absence your truth has been tried,_

_Still to your accents I listen with pride."_

Elena sang through a yawn. Someone passed by their door. Why was it so quiet?

_"Blessed as I was when I sat by your side,_

Then he heard it, or rather, he heard nothing. Quiet came from inside of her. Her voice faded to a whisper and her eyes closed, leaving him behind in the quiet. He turned his head into her and shut his eyes, listening and listening. Nothing came from within. Only one heart was beating. The baby was silent.

_"Long, long ago, long ago."_

There was blood after. Only a little at first; it would stain Elena's gown and Emily would quietly help her change, allowing her to cry for as long as she needed. It was like that for a week. Occasionally, Elena could feel something move in her womb and she would jump up, crying for a doctor who would only tell her what she already knew.

Her child was dead.

She delivered a week later, and there was so much blood that she only saw red through the sweat and agony.

Then it was quiet again. Elena said nothing, spending her days staring out of the window in her room. Her memories long compelled away, only the phantom of sadness remaining in her womb. She could remember no child, no pregnancy, no death, but she could feel it inside of her still.

She watched the weeks go by and wondered why she was empty. She felt the happiness that Damon had put in her head, but it was hollow. Her body was different now, too, and she could not explain why. She did not understand the sad look in Damon's eyes or the indifference in Katherine's.

Gaiety and hope had gone from the world.

She sat there so long that Emily finally decided to take her away. It would not be easy. How could she persuade Katherine to let her go? Damon presented an even larger challenge. Since the baby, he hardly left her side. He only left the room for moments at a time to feed on a man in the room next door. He was like a feral dog. No one could come to close to her.

"Being here is not good for her anymore," Emily said, and even with the sage burning to protect their conversation, her voice was low.

Katherine sat across from her, calmly sipping tea. She took a moment to respond, weighing Emily's words as she smoothed her skirt over her lap. "Where do you expect to take her?"

"I…"

"Mystic Falls would burn her at the stake for her involvement with vampires. I hear it is worse than Salem now."

"Of course, but what if…"

"And I cannot trust Damon to be alone with her."

"Damon will not be coming with us."

"No?"

"I do not trust him."

"He will follow that girl to hell if he has to. You think you can outrun him?"

"That is why I need your help."

Katherine shook her head. "I want her here, with me. I can watch her that way."

"_You_ are more alive than she is in this state," Emily said, her voice rising. "Let her go or she will never be any good to you."

Katherine's lips spread in a thin line, the secrets between the two women hanging thick in the air. "Tread carefully."

"I am indebted to you, but Elena is my friend. Let me take care of her."

"It is not up to you to set the terms of your service, Emily."

"You need her, Katherine."

"I have Jeremy."

"I hear things about Mystic Falls, just as you do. The Gilberts are accused of being longtime sympathizers, and that poor child is the only living whipping boy that town has. Victoria Donovan's father withdrew all talk of marriage. Lord knows he will be lucky if he never sees the gallows. You know it too. You need Elena, and she is useless to you as long as Damon is around."

There was a moment where Katherine said nothing, biting her cheek. "What am I to do, then?"

"I can keep Damon subdued with magic, but not for long. You can pretend that you are searching for her too, and take him in the opposite direction."

"You expect me to drag him along forever?"

"Once we have gotten far enough, it won't matter what you do with him."

"How do I know you are not going to run?"

"I have not given up on finding my family, Katherine. We have an agreement, and I have not gone through all of this for nothing."

* * *

Damon pulled Elena from her chair and into his arms. Gingerly, he set her down on the bed, covering her with the heavy blankets and brushing the hair from her cheek. "Elena," he said, just above a whisper.

"Hmm?"

"How are you?"

She smiled, though never looking at him in the eyes. "I am well." Again, confusion clouded her eyes and she wondered if that was true.

"Will you look at me?"

She did and her gaze softened. "Are you all right?"

"Just worried about you."

"As usual," she joked, but neither of them laughed. "Did something happen?"

"What do you mean?"

"I do not feel right, Damon. I think you are hiding something from me."

"I am not hiding anything," he lied. "Do you understand? _You are tired from our travels, that is all._"

"We have been carrying on so long," she agreed.

"_You are healthy and happy_," he went on.

"I have never felt better," she agreed, and when she smiled, he believed it.

Still, when they lay back together, his face nuzzled in her hair and her head leaned against his, he could not help but stare at the bones in her hands. They looked like mountains rising underneath her skin. Her face was gaunt and her eyes were sunken. She was still too weak to feed on, but he wondered what it would do to her if she fed on him.

If she was healthy again, he could steal her away. They could go somewhere better, where Elena would be happy. The sound of her laugh echoed in his memory and a deep frown covered his face.

Knowing the risk, should Katherine find out, he bit the inside of his own wrist and offered it to her. "_Drink_," he ordered, and she did. He had not fed on her since before she gave birth, and Emily had been very strict about not feeding her vampire blood after the pregnancy. _It is not natural_, she once insisted.

For a moment, he worried that it would not work, but then her grip around his wrist tightened and her breath sped up. For the first time in a long time, the tension in his chest dispersed and he smiled. It was working.

A knock came at the door just as the clouds cleared from her eyes. Damon ripped his arm away from her mouth, her teeth smashing together in response and panic rising on her face. She did not understand the trouble they could get in, the trouble _he_ could get in. In a panic, Damon ripped the pillow from behind his back and shoved it in her face, mopping the blood from her lips and his wrist. "_Lie down and forget this happened_," he ordered.

He was surprised when it was Emily waiting on him at the door. She looked at him warily, as she always did, with her hands crossed over her chest. "Katherine would like to see you," she said, not caring to address him. "She and Stefan are going on a hunt and they would like you to join them."

He turned to look at Elena, who already had more color in her face than she had in weeks. She was calm, blissfully unaware, while Damon could feel the adrenaline buzzing in his fingertips. He grabbed his coat and kissed her on the cheek. He was uneasy at leaving her alone, but besides him, there was no one she was more comfortable with than Emily. There was no one besides him with whom she would be safer with than Emily.

Once he was gone, Emily shut the door quietly. Without saying anything to Elena, she grabbed a heavy trunk and dragged it to the center of the room. Inside was a mix of Damon and Elena's things, all thrown together haphazardly after months of travel. "What are you doing?" Elena said, standing to get a better look.

"I'll explain later," she said, pulling all of Damon's clothes from the trunk and throwing them on the bed.

"Are we leaving again?"

"Yes."

"I'll help pack," Elena said sweetly. Across the room were more trunks, all bigger and filled to the brim.

"Those will only slow us down. Pack only what you need."

"What about Damon's things?"

She paused. Only sedation would be able to persuade Elena to leave if she knew Damon was not coming. She had no time to waste explaining why that was not going to happen. "He is coming with Stefan and Katherine tomorrow."

Concern arose in her eyes, along with something else Emily didn't recognize. Her face looked fuller. Her hands seemed to shake a little. Emily stopped to appraise her, and she noticed a single drop of blood had stained the bright yellow fabric of her dress.

There was no time for questions. She moved faster, ignoring Elena's questions and frantically shoving things into the trunk.

Then they were gone, fleeing into the night with the curtains drawn on their carriage windows. Elena was on the brink of hysterics, tears running down her face and staining the fabric of her gown. Shaking, she turned to Emily for an explanation. "I could have said goodbye, Emily. Why didn't you warn me?"

"Quiet," she hissed, assessing her neck in the dim candlelight. The skin was smooth, free of bites. It was odd; she looked better than she had in months. Her hair felt soft and she sat straighter, but she could not sit still.

"Emily," she begged, "please, tell me what's going on."

In another universe, Elena's death might have been much different. Perhaps it would have come later. There were many days when she thought of what her death would mean. Damon was frozen in time now, and there would come a day when she would be too old and gray to continue on with him. She imagined he would look after their family once she was gone, but that was when they still had a family.

She considered asking him to change her, of course, but she watched Damon, along with Katherine and Stefan, struggle with the hunger. She watched their humanity falter time and time again. She lived in fear of being caught even though she was still human. That was never something she wanted.

Emily gently took her hand and looked into her eyes. The night was quiet except for the clamor of the carriage's wheels and Emily's low voice as she explained the bitter details of a history that had been unfolding since before she or her mother or her mother's mother were even a thought.

* * *

Katerina Petrova was born in the warm summer months almost four hundred years before she arrived on the Gilberts' doorstep. She was loudly happy even as a child; too flirtatious and too outspoken for her family's liking. Nothing, not her father's rage nor his threats, could keep her from being who she was, however.

In the autumn of her fourteenth year, a friend of her father's, Markos Genkov, took a special liking to her. He visited often, bringing sweets and toys. Katerina was very fond of him. Until one day, as they played a game of tag by the edge of the wood, he lured her deep into the trees. She ran so far that she became lost and frightened. He found her crying over a fallen trunk and took her into his arms.

His hands were too big, too rough for her little body. He pulled at her skirts and covered her mouth when she screamed. She was too weak to save herself, and never felt so hopeless.

Her belly grew steadily in the months following. She had brought shame on her entire family and in return, her father locked her in her room. Her older sister, Tatia, who was her equal in cleverness but never in beauty, waited at her bedside begrudgingly. "Promise me," Katerina pleaded one day. "Promise me you will hand me the child when it comes. You know what will happen if Father takes it."

"I promise."

When the baby came, Tatia took it in her arms and swaddled it in a course yellow blanket. "Give her here," Katerina pleaded.

But Tatia slipped out of Katerina's reach, child in hand. She ran to their father, and even watched as he bashed its tiny head in with a club.

Katerina was banished to England, where she began calling herself Katherine Pierce and met a handsome vampire who promised to deliver her to a new life. As a fledgling, she discovered ways to protect herself forever. Nothing was stronger than she. Nothing was quicker.

Never again would she let _anything_ be ripped from her grasp.

She was dead thirty years before she had the strength to return. First, she visited her father who was old and more bitter than she remembered. "I thought you were dead," he croaked. She tore his heart out of his chest, but only after discovering the location of her dear sister.

Tatia was living in a small castle by the sea, She was a lady and her husband a Lord, Lord Markos Genkov of Dobruja. They had one child named Anastasiya.

Katherine crushed Markos' eyeballs like grapes, so he could not look upon her. She nailed his tongued to a table, so he could speak to her. She cut his hands off, so he could not touch her. She left him sobbing, his pants around his ankles and blood dripping from _every_ orifice. "I hope you are still alive when they find you," she hissed into his ear. "I hope your last days in this life are stained by shame, just as mine were."

Not satisfied, she redirected her wrath to her sister, making it a quicker job. They were sisters, after all. She clubbed her in the face until she was recognizable, leaving her in Markos' view.

She let Anastasiya to live, however, vowing that every drop of Markos and Tatia's blood would suffer until the end of time. "I prayed for a curse on your house," she said, "but prayer was never enough. I can be your curse. I can be a plague."

Katherine met Emily Bennett in 1860. It was almost perfect that they came upon each other when they did. Katherine was desperate for a witch to protect her, as was on the run from an old enemy. Emily was desperate for someone as well-connected as Katherine to help her find her family, who she had lost to the slave trade.

They used magic to kill the Gilberts. "Make them suffer," Katherine instructed. "Make their children suffer."

Miranda's sickness was as mysterious as it was swift. No doctor could diagnose it. No medicine could stymie it. They called it consumption. Not that it mattered, for once she was ill, she was never meant to rise again.

* * *

Emily had not meant to tell Elena _everything_, but one she started speaking it was impossible to stop. She had no intention of returning to Katherine, she realized. Rather, she would take Elena far away and search for her family on her own. Even Jeremy could come, she thought.

Elena took all of this all of this information with a quiet grimace on her face, but inside she was on fire. Damon's blood sped through her veins. Her emotions that had been long buried under compulsion were pulsating just beneath the surface. Emily put a hand on her shoulder as it began to shake. "Elena?" There was no response. Elena's eyes moving rapidly around her. "Are you well?"

She flung herself from the carriage before it could come to a complete stop, scraping her knees against the ground as the contents of her stomach covered the dirt below her. Emily hurried from the carriage to hold her hair back, looking around to make sure there was no one to witness them. "Blood," Elena retched. "It tastes like blood."

Then Emily understood everything. She recalled the vision of a crow, blinding her every time she touched Elena. Her skin was thin and sallow. She was always so confused, so forgetful.

_Damon_.

He was feeding on her. In return, he must have fed her his own blood to heal her. His blood corrupted the baby, and ultimately killed it. She sat back at the thought. She wondered if Elena knew, but before she could ask, she was thrown on her back, her head smacking a large stone. Elena hovered over her with eyes like an animal's and blood running down her chin. Emily's vision blurred.

"You killed my mother." Her grasp was unrelenting, and she was howling, sobbing.

Emily Bennett was the first person Elena Gilbert ever killed.

The next was herself.


	24. In Between

**Part Two**

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

**In Between**

_Virginia_

_1864_

Elena Gilbert's departure from her mortal life was immersed in water. When she awoke, it was to the rough hands of a stranger pulling her from a river. Her hair had gotten caught on some brush, but he did not seem to notice, ripping her closer to shore. Though her eyes remained shut, she could hear the man breathing hard. She opened her eyes just as he had fallen back, her body completely out of the water. She sputtered slightly, clearing the fluid from her lungs and the man flinched, surprised. "Ma'am?" he breathed. "Can y' hear me?"

She sat up slowly, lifting a hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun. The last she remember, it had been dark and cold out, but now it was bright. Too bright. There were no clouds in the sky and the sun beat down on her back. She could feel the light of the sun stabbing at the back of her brain. A cold wind spread throughout the trees and the hairs on her arms stood up. "Who are you?"

He sat back, slightly affronted by this girl who seemed to have no appreciation that he had saved her life. "Name's Noah," he grunted.

He was a big man, she realized. Ugly, too. His face was pale with a long nose that shadowed all of his other features. His dirty brown hair hung in front of his eyes. He stood up to evaluate himself. His clothes were drenched, much to his chagrin, though it appeared that most of the dirt had been washed from his arms. "Who're you?" he said without looking at her.

"Elena," she said.

He stared for a moment. "Well, _Elena_, d'ya reckon you can explain what landed you face down in a river?"

Cold wind smacked her in the face and she was transported back to the previous night. Emily's body was in front of her, the smell of vomit and blood was in her nose. Freezing tears ran down her face. "I do not remember," she lied.

He looked at her, clearly annoyed, and offered his hand. She took it gingerly, rising to her feet. Everything about the world was unsteady. There was a ringing in her ears and a pounding in her head. For a moment, she feared she would clear the contents of her already empty stomach right then and there. He steadied her by the elbow and began pulling her alongside him. "Where are we going?" she asked, tripping over a rock.

"Can' leave you out in the cold lookin' like that," he sighed.

His house was small and almost as dirty as he was. His bed, which protruded into the kitchen, smelled of alcohol and sweat. She sat there anyway as he fetched both of them dry clothes from an old dresser across the room.

She sat there with her head in her hands. The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that the previous night had not happened at all. Had it all been a twisted dream? No, that would not explain how she ended up in a stranger's home, soaking wet and confused.

Noah handed her a tattered pair of pants and yellowed undershirt. "'s all I got," he frowned. She stood to change, waiting for him to remove himself from the room, but he made no advancement towards the door. "What? Tryin'ta kick me out o' my own home?"

Her cheeks turned red and her eyes widened, "Oh, of course not. I will just…" She balled the clothes up in her arms and exited out of the door she had entered. She was certainly not in Mystic Falls anymore.

His home was surrounded by tall trees, which was smart, she thought, for they would slow the wind from coming into all the tiny cracks in the sides of his house. She went around to the side, where a washtub sat as though it had not been used for many months. She set the clothes he had given her on the ground and peaked around once more before undressing. Her cheeks turned a shade of pink when she realized that the water had made her thin nightdress see-through. Thankfully, she had on a long coat when Emily whisked her away the previous night. She hoped her new companion had not seen anything.

Her mind wandered as she changed. _Emily is dead_, she thought. Empty eyes flashed at the front of Elena's mind and her eyes began to water. She could not make sense of what happened. Who had done that to Emily? Who had thrown her into the river?

She slipped her legs into the pants, but something made her stop. A sound had sent a chill down her spine came from behind her. She looked over her shoulder to the wall of Noah's house; she could hear breathing coming from behind it. She was filled with revulsion, hurrying to slip on the remainder of her clothes, but when she heard it again, she did not think of the pale man with his face pressed to a crack in the wall.

This time, she heard ragged breaths in between sobs. They were her own, she realized. The memory was unaccompanied by sight, only the sound of herself. Misery seeped into her stomach and tears collected in her eyes. Slowly the vision of Emily's dead face came to her mind again. _I killed her_, she realized, and her fingers ached from having her hands wrapped around her friend's neck. She sank down against the wall behind her, burying her head in the stench of her clothes. A sob erupted from her throat as everything hit her all at once. The truth about Emily and Katherine. The taste of blood in her mouth. The sound of Emily's head hitting a stone. She had thrown herself into the river.

She looked up when she heard footsteps approaching, scrambling to her feet and wiping the dirt from the back of her pants. Noah appeared before her, looking less dirty and more menacing than before. He carried a bottle with clear liquid loosely in one hand. The unpleasant smell wafted all the way over to her. "You comin'?"

She followed without saying anything, and he didn't seem to mind. "Got some beans warmin' up," he said. "Can' offer ya much more than that."

"I don't mind," she grimaced, she had never felt so hungry in her life.

"'s been difficult since the mines closed."

"Oh."

"They caved in, see. Killed about three hundred men."

"Not you?"

"Slept in that day," he laughed. "Funny, idn't? My boss said, 'Boy, you show up late one more time and I'll fire your ass fasser than you can say wake up!'"

She feigned a smile. "That's lucky for you."

He laughed again, "Serves that bastard right."

They were quiet while they ate. Elena spent her time thinking of the night before, wondering how she was going to get back to Damon; wondering how she had lived. It was her desire to die, she remembered. When she stood on that bridge, it was never her intention to return to land. She remembered slipping the ring Katherine had given her from her finger and leaving it on the side of the bridge. She hoped someone would find it.

Every bite that she shoveled into her mouth was more unpleasant than the last. It felt as though her teeth were on the verge of cracking down the middle, and it became so painful she began chewing her food by mashing it into the top of her mouth with her tongue. The beans were dreadfully bland, made worse by the fact that they were hardly warm. The longer she ate, the more she suspected she would be sick, yet she grew hungrier. Even when she had cleaned her bowl, a yearning growled from her belly.

Elena could not determine whether she was happy when Noah did not offer his bed to her. It was the polite thing to do, the gentlemanly thing to do, but she was not sure she would be able to make it through the night surrounded by that smell. Instead, he handed her a thin blanket and pointed to a rug in the kitchen. Truthfully, she was glad to be away from him.

She noticed as she tried to make herself comfortable that Noah positioned himself by the stove in the corner instead of going to bed. With the clear bottle of liquid ever-present in his hand, he stared into the fire with his feet up on a chair. She crossed her arms over her chest. She would leave first thing in the morning, she decided. She just needed to find Damon, and everything would be all right.

She awoke later to the sound of movement from somewhere in the room. There was hardly any light, just enough from the dimming embers under the stove to see the chest of drawers next to her head. It was silent for a few more moments and then she heard the noise once again; it was Noah's bottle hitting the table as he set it down. He still sat in the same spot, though slightly hunched over now. Each noise she heard was of him, sliding the heavy bottle off the table, raising it to his lips, and setting it back on the table with a loud _thud_.

She sat up carefully, and her head was spinning. Each bone in her body ached, and she wondered for a moment if she was not severely ill. "Noah," she whispered. "Are you awake?"

"Been thinkin'," he muttered.

A chill swept through her spine and she was suddenly very aware of the menace in his voice. "What of, I wonder."

"You," he said, his head rolling to face her.

"Was I sleeping too loudly?"

"Quiet as a mouse. Just as helpless too."

Her body tensed. She would have to pass him to get to the door if need be, and she knew she was not strong enough to do so.

"'s locked," he said, following her eye line. "Don' ya wanna know what I been thinkin' about?"

She could not find the words to reply. Her cheeks had grown hot and her hands were shaking. She could not remember the last time that she had not had someone guarding her every move. First her father, then John, and then Damon, then Katherine. Who would protect her now?

"I been thinkin' about the way you looked in that river. Lot's o' dead bodies been turning up 'round these parts, so when I happened upon a lady, a real lady, with her bloomers out for the world to see, I'm thinkin' that I'll have a real good story to tell."

"I would have died if it were not for you, Noah."

"See, that's why I'm curious. You was dead, I know it. You was face down in that water, those pretty curls bobbing up in down. I didn' save you right away. I watched you for a bit. You looked like a pretty paintin', not that I've seen too many."

"I do not understand."

"I wasn't saving anyone when I pulled you from that river. I was pullin' a body out because I didn' want anyone else to find it." He stood up very suddenly, and Elena yelped before she knew what was happening. "Are you real?"

She stood up slowly, "Of course, Noah."

"Quit sayin' my name!" he roared, throwing the chair back as he stood. "Quit trying to make me think you're real!"

"Please! I am not trying to trick you!"

He lunged at her, pressing her to the wall by her throat. "I've heard about your kind. Killin' people, eatin' em. See I figured out your trick. You was trying to lure me in, make me pity you so you could kill me."

"That is not true!" she choked. What little energy she had was fading fast. She realized he was going to kill her.

"It must be easy for you," he said softly. "Pretty little thing like yourself just bats an eye and you've got yourself breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

"I am not like them," she insisted. "I am not a vampire!"

He leered closer to her, burying his face in her neck and inhaling loudly. She sobbed, but not from fear. His closeness took her to another time. A voice rang throughout her brain, the same word repeating over and over.

_Forget, forget, darling, just forget._

"Stop," she sobbed. Then his name just slipped out, and she realized that it wasn't the first time she had said it. "Damon, stop!"

"My name is Noah!" he screamed into her ear. "What? You gettin' your prey confused now? Was Damon the last one you murdered?"

All that came out of her mouth was 'no', but he didn't seem to hear her anymore. "You won't kill me," he said. "I won't let you kill me!"

He threw her down then, her face clipping the table that they had eaten at earlier. He fell down on top of her, smashing his fists onto every inch of her body. She tried weakly to push him off, dragging her long nails across his face, trying to hit him back. Nothing could stop him.

Finally, her arms gave out, and she could not find the strength to fight anymore. Her hands hit the floor beside her and she no longer felt any pain.

When she opened her eyes there was Damon, and he looked so clean and beautiful like he always did. She smiled and tears poured from her eyes; how long had it been since she had really seen his face? It felt like months, years even. Blood trickled down from the corner of his mouth. "Did it hurt?"

"Not as much this time," she said, though it felt like someone else was speaking for her. This was a memory.

He smiled, "Are you ready?"

She nodded as he lifted his wrist to his mouth, biting down until the blood flowed feely. Then she was feeding on him, gulping down his blood like wine. Something about the memory was wrong, though. Damon was screaming. He was not supposed to be screaming, and she was feeding from his neck, not his wrist. Something was wrong.

She pulled her head back, the taste of blood in her mouth. Pain spread through her gums like her teeth were going to fall out. When she looked back at Damon, he was gone, and Noah had replaced him, his face contorted with fury. "I knew it!" he yelled, grasping at his neck.

She choked on the blood and the pain grew stronger. Like a crack of lightning had jolted through her body, everything was becoming clear. The mist that had hung over her head for months was dissipating. She was getting strong again.

She pushed him off, and he fell backwards, his head hitting the stove. Her face was pulsating and all she could see was a man laying on the floor. Rage filled her fingertips and she leapt on him, clamping around his neck once more.


	25. Awakening

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

**Awakening**

_Virginia_

_1865_

Hunger.

Had she ever felt anything else? It blinded and choked. Who was she without it?

"My name is Elena Gilbert," she breathed, tripping over a branch.

The ground approached her slowly as she fell. She could see every stick, every blade of grass. A spider slipped in and out of blades of green, ever tiny hair on its legs perfectly visible in her new eyes. Her leg shot out in a blur of movement, and she was suddenly walking up right again.

She glared back at the branch, fury boiling in her belly. She stepped towards it, and without meaning to, her moved so quickly that she walked right past it. Another surge of rage ran through her. She fell to her knees, forcing herself to move as slowly as she knew how. The branch was thicker than her hand, but she lifted it with ease. Teeth gritted, she heaved it at tall tree twenty paces ahead. A loud _crack_ broke through the dark forest upon impact. She watched the shattered bark fall to the floor with a satisfied grin.

Another deafening boom erupted from somewhere deep in the forest and she froze. She crouched down low, suddenly overcome by the need to fight, survive. She moved in the direction of the sound, careful not to pay too much attention to the perfectly clear detail of her surrounding. Her senses prickled with the sound of worms crawling through the dirt. She pleaded with herself not to hear it, but it only grew louder.

She approached a clearing, filled with moonlight and the smell of blood. The smell could have knocked her to the ground. Every other distraction fell to the background. She heard nothing, smelled nothing, knew nothing but blood. She was beside the doe before she knew what she was doing. Her teeth slid uneasily from her sockets, forming sharp points. The veins in her face quivered and saliva filled her mouth.

The blood was warm and bitter like tea without sugar. As it filled her, she could not tell if her hunger was satiated or her desire grew. She fed on every last drop, sucking the buckshot through her teeth and spitting onto the dirt beside her.

Footsteps approached from outside of the clearing. They sounded human, and she felt a swell of relief. They could help her find her way out of the forest. Three men stepped out of the threshold of trees, their guns raised in her direction. She looked barely human; her hair was knotted and filled with leave and grass. Blood, the same color as her eyes, dripped down her chin and onto her frayed clothing. She crouched like an animal before the doe.

"What the hell is that?" one of the men whispered.

Her head jerked to the side at the sound, so much louder and clearer than anything she had ever heard. "Please," she croaked. It was all she could make out. The doe's blood had made its way to her fingertips, warming her and filling her with strength.

The man in the center cocked the hammer of his pistol, raising it just slightly. Elena snarled in defense, the sound ripping out of her throat without permission.

"Demon!" the first man hissed. "Kill it!"

Their weapons went off all at once, and Elena was so horrified that she did not move a muscle. Their bullets hit her like fiery raindrops, tearing through flesh and muscle with ease. One strayed to her mouth, knocking her front teeth out and leaving the sockets vibrating. Another lodged in her sternum, just above her left lung. She yelped, falling backwards to the ground. Though she was stronger, she still felt pain. Blood leaked from her wounds, still warm and smelling just as the doe's had.

Most painful was the hunger, as her veins emptied out onto the forest floor. Her vision went black, and she was filled with the smell of blood. "_Drink_," a voice said softly. "_You will feel better_."

The voice was Damon's, calling her from a distant memory.

She listened as the men's footsteps approached her carefully. "What'll we do with it?" someone said.

"Bury it facing down," another suggested. "When she wakes up and tries to claw out of her grave, she'll dig deeper."

Someone reached down to grab her by the bleeding arm, and the fire of her rage burned with his touch. She grabbed him by the throat, her grasp so strong that she felt a snap beneath her fingers. His limp body fell forward and she tore into his neck with more fervor than she had ever done anything before.

Her wounds began healing quicker, and she was on her feet before either remaining man could raise their weapons again. She tackled the taller one, awkwardly pulling him to the ground and snaring herself around him like a great snake. When she bit into him, his quickened pulse forced the blood into her mouth with ease.

The last man had already ran when she was done, but he had not gotten very far. She was at his back within seconds, clamping down on his neck before he even knew she was there.

This blood had a different affect on her than the doe's. Almost as though she had too much champagne, she felt giddy and reckless and strong. Power flowed through her fingertips and she laughed out loud. She dragged the dead man by the ankles back to the clearing. _Five_, she thought, looking down at the men side by side. Five people were dead, their ghosts living inside of her.

She stripped the smallest man of his clothes, blushing as she removed his trousers. She left Noah's clothes in a pile on the ground. Her new apparel was still too big, with the blood washed from her body in a nearby stream, she was human again.

The sky had gone from black to dusty blue without her realizing. Her eyes throbbed at the sight, but she moved on anyway. The men's scent led her towards the edge of the forest. She breathed a sigh of relief when she finally caught sight of a beam of light breaking through the trees ahead. Her pace quickened, and she erupted onto a dirt road with a squeal of elation. Her smile quickly disappeared, however, as soon as the sun landed on her skin. Her skin bubbled and singed, the smell of burnt flesh hitting her nose. She screamed in pain, barreling back into the trees. Even there, the light had grown to powerful, and her skin was red and angry.

She looked around desperately, but light had broken through the canopy nearly everywhere. Finally, she fell to her knees, clawing at the dirt with her newfound speed and strength. Her back burned under the heavy wool of the man's coat. She tunneled into the ground like a badger, pulling the cool dirt on top of her until the sun's light could no longer be felt.

Dirt was in her nose and mouth, and she had to force herself to stop breathing just to make it bearable. Tears leaked from her eyes, and she had never felt more scared or hopeless in her life.

_Why is this happening to me? _she thought.

As if to answer her own question, the smell of saltwater filled her nose. The memory of her death was so real, too real, and filled her with another wave of despair. _I am dead_, she remembered. _Just like Katherine. Just like Damon._

She thought back to Emily's confession. Katherine killed her mother. Even her father's death was a result of Katherine's interference. She had never met her grandparents, not on her mother's side. They must have died by Katherine's hand too.

_Every tragedy in my life was the result of her wickedness_, she thought.

She thought of Damon, wondered where he could be. She tried to remember their last moments together, but the memory was shrouded in darkness. Emily came to the door. Stefan and Katherine requested his company on a hunt. That is when they ran away, but happened before that?

It rained that day, and the streets outside there window had grown muddy. She was watching a carriage try to dig its wheels out of a rut in the road. The carriage driver was swearing at his young companion. She had been upset that day, and the day before, she remembered, but why?

The memory slowly became clearer. Damon came to the room. He sat on her on the bed. She saw his mouth moving, but no sound came forth. The feeling of the memory changed; her agitation dissipated as he spoke. She remembered laying with him, feeling suddenly content. Still silent, he raised an arm to him mouth. She was drinking his blood.

The thought shocked her. How could she not remember drinking his blood? She remembered all the times Katherine had manipulated people in front of her. _Compulsion_, she called it. Damon compelled her.

Katherine compelled her too, she realized upon hours of sitting in the dirt. Memory after memory appeared, some of Katherine, some of Damon. Each of them would look into her eyes, their pupils dilating, and speaking to her. _Forget this conversation. Tell no one. Don't be scared. Eat something. Don't cry._

They had been compelling her for months. Half of her memories were wrong or imagined. Damon had been feeding on her too, she realized. The memories were so real that it scared her. He made her forget it all: his betrayal, her fear, and mostly, the pain.

She felt invaded, stupid. All along she thought Damon was the one person who would never hurt her, and he had been all along.

There was something else she was missing, something big. A dark cloud hung over her memories, bigger than all the rest. It had been compelled so far from her thoughts that no matter how deep she searched, she could not find what it was.

She clawed her way out of her makeshift grave still thinking about it. The sun had gone down, and Elena knew that it was just one more thing she would never see again. Dirt stuck to her face and under her nose from her tears. She rubbed her sleeve across her nose with one final sob, then followed her own scent back to the road she found earlier.

* * *

The first town she came upon was small. A tavern sat on the outskirts, lit up and loud with voices. She remembered how Stefan struggled in public places, and wondered if she should keep moving. Her heart felt heavy, and she was tired from carrying it around. She sucked in a breath and held it tight in her lungs.

The bar was full of men and women, laughing and drinking. Surprisingly, she was not the dirtiest person there, and nobody paid her hardly any mind.

"I need a room," she muttered, struggling against the sounds of hearts beating all around her. "Please."

The tavern's keeper hardly glanced up from his work. "You got any coin?"

She pushed her hands deep in the pockets of her jacket, hoping to find money waiting for her. There was nothing but crumbs.

The keeper finally looked up, an annoyed grimace on his face. "Ain' runnin' a charity, ya know."

Elena thought back to the times she had watched Katherine, Stefan, and Damon rent rooms. They simply spoke to the innkeeper, and he handed them a key.

She pursed her lips and squared her shoulders. "I said I would like a room."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are ya deaf, boy? No coin, no room!"

She felt tears coming to her eyes. How did they do it? Was she broken? "_Please_," she begged, her eyes trying to find any kindness in his. "_I need a room just for a night._"

His face went blank and he reached for something below the counter. He returned with a key, and an empty nod. "Room three," was all he said.

She snatched the key and hurried off, careful to move slow enough to avoid any suspicion. Room three was small and bare. A bed, dresser, and basin were all shoved into the same corner. She shut the door behind her and ripped a blanket from the bid in one swift tug, holding it to her face before breathing again. Though it was no longer necessary, breathing comforted her in some way. It made her feel human.

* * *

Three days passed with Elena's head buried in her pillow, only coming out when the innkeeper came looking to remove her. It was easier to compel him that time. Every day that passed revealed new fear. It became harder to ignore the collective pulse in the end. By day three, it seemed to move the walls.

She waited until it was dark, sweeping through the tavern and out into the fresh air with bated breath. Few people lingered on the dark streets, and she wondered how she was supposed to pick one. A woman passed. She was plain with flushed cheeks. A little smile sat on her face and her heart fluttered with excitement. Elena ducked her head guiltily as she passed. The girl was too lively, too young.

The next was a man so familiar that she had to look twice. Hair like a raven's feathers, skin white like ivory. She turned to follow him, her feet moving silently across the dirt. She grabbed his arm as he passed the butcher, pulling him with ease to the back of the building. She held him by the face, disappointment welling up in her stomach when she saw it was not him. Everything about him was weak: his chin, his brow, his voice.

"Can I help you?" he squeaked.

Damon's face replaced his. "_Just forget all of this_," he said.

She ripped into his neck, relishing his screams of pain until they turned into her own. She heard them in her memories. _Stop. Please. It hurts, Damon._

Her jaw tightened.

_Drink_, she heard him say. _It will heal you. It will heal the baby._

Her eyes opened. The man had stopped moving. She dropped him to the ground.

_Baby?_

She stumbled away, blood rushing to her cheeks. She tried to recall any babies they had come across since leaving Mystic Falls. None came to mind. She found another man to feed on, then another.

* * *

She spent days like that: hiding away during the day, and feeding recklessly at night. By the end of the week, the small town looked much like Mystic Falls did so long ago. The streets were empty, and totally quiet. Food became harder to find.

She moved on to the next town, and then one more. As she grew used to her new body and the power it possessed, she also became graceful. Though she could move faster than light, her fingers cut through the air like warm milk, and her powerful muscles were only hindered by grace. She was never plagued by illness or physical pain. She was also graced with new capacity for wisdom. A face was never forgotten, nor a sentence or a name.

Her human memories were more difficult to access, however. If she found herself thinking of Emily, her limp body covered in gravel, she would forget her name. She forgot her favorite hymn from church. Her stolen memories were even slower to come to her. She spent most of her days inside, trying to remember what Damon was hiding from her. It felt like spending a long day staring at a plain white wall. _Baby_ repeated in her mind, a piano's song playing out of tune.

The memory struck like lightning, sending electric currents down her spine. First, it was the picture of her torso: round breasts peaking over the lace of her bodice and a round belly looming just below. Her own hands wrapped around it with tender caution. She was pregnant, or so it appeared, but where had the child gone? That memory took more time to remember. It broke into her mind with a flash of red staining her skirt, running onto the floor, dripping in between her toes.

_Gone_, the words rang out. _Gone. My child is gone._


	26. The Fair

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

**The Fair**

_Philadelphia, Pennsylvania_

_1876_

The sky was leaden, but the city was alight with excitement and the sound of ringing bells. It was the country's one-hundredth birthday and people were pouring in from every corner of the world to witness America's emergence as an industrious world power. Rain had fallen all through the night, but the sky was already beginning to clear and not a soul remained inside. Throngs of visitors poured in through the gates opened as they opened, and among them, three individuals stood apart from the rest.

"Damon," Katherine called. "Do try to keep up."

He looked ahead at her and Stefan, who had paused arm in arm, to wait for him. "Why did we come here again?"

"Don't be a grump," Stefan laughed.

Damon made no attempt to mask his apathy as he moved forward, but neither Stefan nor Katherine seemed to mind. This was the usual arrangement of their outings; Katherine always in the lead, Stefan following closely behind, and Damon watching with a grimace and a snide comment. It was Stefan's idea, odd as it was, to attend the first World's Fair.

They roamed for some time, Damon always a few feet behind. They were on the brink of a new era, all of them watching as the world changed. They rode in a new contraption called the monorail where passengers could ride all around the fairgrounds, enjoying the sights and the sounds. Katherine and Stefan shared a cart, talking and laughing together. Damon sat in the car behind them, his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. They ate something called popcorn, which Damon hated, of course. They witnessed something called a telephone, the "communication of the future." Stefan even reluctantly agreed to shell out a whole $1.50 to climb to the top of a statue at Katherine's request. It was only a hand and a torch, made of all copper, but it stood almost forty feet in the air. "Why not compel the man?" Damon huffed. "We never pay for anything."

Katherine rolled her eyes before turning sweetly to Stefan. "It is only the first piece, you see. The rest is in France. Once it is finished, it will be brought to America. Our money will be put to building a base. She will be a very large woman, I hear."

They climbed a ladder on the inside of the statues arm, emerging from a door in the torch. The fire was made of amber colored windows and lights shown from the inside.

Damon stood on the side farthest from Katherine and Stefan. It pained him to see them arm in arm. He could see the whole Eastern side of the fair. Voices rose like smoke into the golden sky. He heard a quiet "I love you" from the other side of the lantern.

"The sun is going down," he called. "Dinner will be served soon."

They returned to the ground below, with Damon in a poorer mood than before. Tables were set up in empty spots along the paths. The people were all filtering out of the buildings and into the streets looking for food to purchase. Lights were strung up in the square with the Lady's torch lit up in the center of it all. The air was rich with the sound of excited voices and the smell of food. A group had gotten together off to the side, playing their instruments, and dancers had gathered in front of the statue.

The trio removed themselves to a table at the edge of the crowd. "I'm getting hungry," Stefan said, his leg bouncing up and down.

Katherine placed her hand authoritatively on his shoulder. "Patience, darling. I like them when they are fat and sleepy."

When it came to the point where he could no longer wait, Katherine grabbed a young man by the arm as he passed their table and forced him down in the seat next to them. "_Do not make a sound_," she ordered.

The two dug in without another word, the crowd swirling around them in happy ignorance. Damon lips tightened into a thin line. He turned his back to them, searching the crowd for the perfect dish.

"Damon," Katherine said sweetly and dabbing her mouth with her handkerchief. "Aren't you hungry?"

"Not after seeing that, no."

"Go on," she purred. "Find yourself someone to eat. It will put you in better spirits."

He rolled his eyes and lifted himself from his chair, not bothering to look back.

There was plenty to choose from. A girl had been making eyes at him from across the way all night. She was a small thing though, short and thin, she was more of an hors d'oeuvre than a main course. Conversely, there was a fat woman who had sat alone for the entirety of her meal. She would taste delightful, he imagined. There was a young man who was arrogant and strong. He would put up a good chase, which was the only thing that brought him happiness anymore.

Then he saw something. It only lasted for a moment, but it stopped him in his tracks. He had seen her a thousand times since she died. It was a flash of brown curls disappearing from the corner of his eye. Her laugh echoing in a loud room. The smell of honey and lemongrass in his sleep. Even though it was never her, he never stopped believing it would be.

When he thought he saw her face staring at him through the crowd, it was almost impossible for him to move. The blood in his body sped through his veins. His neck was warm and rigid, trying to keep from panicking. She was walking faster from him now, only daring to peak at him as she turned the corner. He knocked a man to the ground in his pursuit.

It had to be her this time, he knew it. She was fast, but she underestimated how desperate he was to catch her. He caught her arm just as she was about to break into a run, and when he saw her face, he knew he must be going mad. Seeing her was like touching the son, wondrous and painful. So much happiness filled him at once that he could have fallen to his knees.

"Elena?" he said, his eyes desperately searching her for some confirmation that he was not dreaming.

Her face had not changed from the time he last saw her, though her features had hardened, it seemed. She was a vampire now; he knew it the moment he saw her. Her cheeks were flushed from a fresh feed, and a drop of blood had stained the lapel of her dress. Her lips turned down in a stern frown, even in her shock. Her long hair was curly and unkempt on top of her head, but she had done what every vampire spent their entire existence trying to do: blend.

How many days had it been since he saw her, touched her? That night Emily tried to escape with her, he knew something was wrong right away. He caught her scent on the wind, though she had not left the inn for many weeks. He slipped away from Katherine and Stefan without a word, following her trail.

It ended on a bridge. Emily's body, emptied of her soul, was splayed out in the dirt, her dead eyes gazing at the stars. Elena was gone, her scent disappearing with the river. A silver ring was left behind, too big for her fingers. He never thought it was possible that she was turned; Katherine never told him how to make a vampire. He wept by the bridge for two days before Stefan found him.

Elena's face softened for a moment, as though struck by a memory. She raised a hand to touch his face, running her thumb across his chin. "Damon?"


	27. Sunlight

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

**Sunlight**

_Philadelphia, Pennsylvania_

_1876_

Damon was ripped out of his euphoric daze by a sharp smack across his face. Elena still stood before him, but anger had seeped into every feature of her face. The taste of his own blood was in his mouth. She stood wordlessly before him, a piece of her hair had come loose and hung in front of her eyes. She slapped him, he realized.

It had been many years since Elena had allowed herself to think of him. Not since she was a newly-born vampire, wandering the streets of foreign towns in the light of the moon, feeding indiscriminately and overwhelmingly. The memory of him was so painful that it had been a long time since she willingly thought of him.

Damon grabbed her arm before she could strike him again. "You fed on me," she huffed, ripping herself from his grasp.

He blinked, surprised. "What?"

Her eyes darkened and her teeth were bared. The rush of memories hit her all over again. "You fed on me."

He could not think of what to say, and his silence fueled the fire inside of her. She turned on her heal and began walking away, but he was not going to let her get away that easy. He had spent the last decade thinking that she perished in a river.

"Wait!" he called, grabbing her hand and looping it through his arm so she could not run. "You cannot possibly think I would just let you walk away."

"What do you want?"

"I looked for you for months. I thought you died."

"I did."

He inhaled as if to say something, but tucked that conversation away for another time. "Where are you going?"

"I don't much like crowds," she sighed. "I only came for supper."

"Then I will escort you home."

"Do you think I would so easily let you know where I lay my head?"

"I was only trying to be polite, Miss."

She forced a laugh. "You were never this thick when we were together, what changed?"

He could not help but to smirk. "You were always my better half, you know that."

"I am whole on my own, thank you very much."

He sighed. "If you will not let me escort you home, then stay with me here."

She looked around as if seeing her surroundings for the first time. "And do what?"

People moved all around them, but they were perfectly still in the center of it all. He looked around as if to measure the possibilities. "Come explore with me."

* * *

"I do not understand," Elena called rather loudly. "What is the purpose of this contraption?"

They sat together on the monorail, moving at an exponentially slow speed. From up that high, they saw everything the Exposition had to offer. Lights were strung up all along their path. Elena was very annoyed with it all. "If I need to go somewhere, I take a train. Trains are fast. Where will I get if we are going this slow?"

Damon laughed. He was sure that he had said the same thing to Stefan just hours ago. "You are not meant to go anywhere fast. You are meant to _see_."

She glared at him from the side of her eye. It had been a long time since she had slowed down. "I am not impressed," was all she said.

"Clearly," he smirked.

The next thing she said took him by surprise. "Why are you here, Damon?"

"I thought the breeze would be nice," he joked, brushing the hair out of his eyes. "You?"

She turned to the girl in front of them, lightly running her fingers through her long red hair. The stranger was too invested with the handsome man at her side to notice. "It's the Centennial Exposition on our great country's one hundredth birthday. Every corner of the Earth has spit out strangers and curiosities into this very town, and what am I to do but take advantage? All of this is nothing more than a feast served on a very patriotic platter."

"Our kind?"

"We're everywhere. Have you not noticed?" She nodded towards the man that the red head was wrapped around. He had been whispering into her ear, but looked up briefly to lock eyes with Elena. He had heard every word, of course.

Damon studied the man. He never would have known. "So you are not living here?" he said, changing the subject.

"I am not living at all."

"What will it take to end this, Elena? Speak to me!"

She looked at him defiantly, saying nothing when he grabbed her by the arms. He spoke just above a whisper, "You know I am sorry. I am so, so sorry for what I did to you. It was never my intention to hurt you. Please, just tell me what it will take for you to forgive me."

She sat up straighter. "I am hungry."

It took him a moment to recuperate. He thought that was his big break. He was ready to kiss her and whisk her away just as soon as she said, "I forgive you," but she acted like she had not heard a word. "Hungry?"

"I want her," she whispered, nodding to the redhead. The other vampire looked up at her so viciously that his true face could be seen lurking under the surface.

Then Damon understood. She wanted to play a game, and to be forgiven, he needed to win. He moved in front of Elena as the man moved toward her. "Why don't you find your own?" he growled.

Damon stood much taller than the man, and if he had to guess, he was no more than a fledgling. No vampire that survived more than a year was so blatantly territorial and aggressive. "Ask yourself if this is worth it," he said quietly. A show of fireworks exploded above their heads, distracting the other passengers. "I am bigger and stronger, but my friend is much angrier. Is it worth it to you?"

"Actually," the man said, "it is."

Damon looked back to Elena as if to measure how serious she was. Her face was leaden and angry and she nodded at him. He was quick and quiet about it all, grabbing the man by the collar and dropping him off of the side of the rail. Elena smiled widely to Damon's delight, and the girl sat idly by. Damon was obviously pleased when he offered the girl's neck to Elena. He had won.

* * *

"What was it called again?" Elena called excitedly.

"A tiger," Damon answered, struggling to keep up as she dragged him forward by the hand.

"A tiger!" She stopped suddenly and Damon ran straight into her. She kept her eyes steady on his. "I want to eat it," she said earnestly.

"Animal blood is no good," he grimaced.

"Have you ever had tiger blood?"

"No…"

"Then you will never know how it is!"

"Come," she giggled. "I want to see this great torch you mentioned."

The crowds had thinned out as the night went on, but there was still a gathering in the light of the torch. Damon refused to pay this time, but compelled their way to the top.

Elena inhaled the crisp night air and there was a small smile on her face. He yearned to move closer to her, but he was admittedly afraid. He was reminded of their walks down the old dirt road leading into town. Mystic Falls seemed like a lifetime away. "Do you ever get cold?" she said absently.

"What?"

"I cannot remember the last time I was cold," she moved closer to him, "or warm."

He did not like to hear that; after he died, he was always too hot or too cold. Every feeling was more than it was before. "I am so sorry for all of this," he said.

She turned to him, but he could not read her face. "You never told me why you are really here," she said.

"It was Stefan's idea," he chuckled, "strange as that is."

She perked up at his name. "Stefan?"

"And Katherine, of course. I suppose they wanted to come here for the same reason you did."

"Where are they now?"

"Hell if I know. They will be gone until morning, I'm sure."

She was silent then, and he could not help himself. He took her hand in his, and they sat in silence for a moment, both looking in opposite directions. It was like they were children, running through the tobacco fields that grew in between their homes. There they would stand, with the tall plants towering over them, blushing and unable to look each other in the eye.

"I missed you," he said quietly.

"Prove it."

* * *

Upon entering his room at the inn, Damon and Elena crashed into the wall, their bodies only separating long enough to rip their clothes off. Elena was very different now. She was no longer delicate and breakable. There was nothing gentle about her. She threw Damon down on the old bed and was on top of him before he could blink. There was fire inside of her and it was the first time she had felt anything other than rage in a decade.

They covered each other. Elena's hair ran across Damon's body like silk as she kissed him all over. Damon's hands touched every part of her. "I love you," Damon moaned over and over into her skin. The hair had stood up on the back of his neck. He had been with no one else. All he had thought about was her. Then she was there, very suddenly, on top of him, encompassing him.

She ran her hands up his arms and held them firmly above his head. "What did I taste like?" she rasped, and he saw her eyes turn red. He had never thought of what Elena would look like as a vampire, but he looked at her in awed fascination. She looked beautiful, he thought, dangerous even. He wanted her and the hunger on her face aroused him even more. "Tell me."

He had to think for a moment, _those _memories so far from his mind. Sweet, he remembered, as young women often were. The memory drew his out his fangs and the veins beneath his eyes swelled.

She spoke before he had a chance to respond. "I want to know what you taste like."

He needed no further instruction, turning his face as far as he could without taking his eyes off of her. She clamped down onto his neck with a force he had never felt; nobody ever fed on him before. His fingers began to tingle and the blood drained from his face, rushing like a current downward.

A satisfied and blood-covered smirk covered Elena's face when she wrenched back. Her pulse was racing.

She fell onto her back at his side, pulling him on top of her. He was dizzy and could not shake the smile from his face. She slid her hand down between her own legs. "Take me, Damon," she pleaded. "Now."

* * *

He awoke to the oddest sensation. His legs felt as though they were on fire as he slowly rose out of his sweet, Elena-filled sleep. It was not his imagination. He sat suddenly, the skin on his calves and feet bubbling and blistering like a milky stew. The large window, which was usually covered, had been stripped of its curtains and sunlight poured into the room. He slammed his back into the wall behind him. The sheets were gone from the bed, and he had nothing to cover himself with. Even hiding in the shadows of the room, never directly touched by the sunlight, he was still dreadfully uncomfortable.

He looked across the room, the sunlight scorching his corneas, and there was Elena, in the center of the great beam. His daylight ring dangled from her finger and a huge smile covered her face. He was in so much discomfort that it was a minute before he noticed she was naked. Her clothes, ripped to shreds, lay in a pile behind her. "Elena?"

"Yes, Damon?"

"What is the meaning of this?"

"I have not felt the sunlight in twelve years. Did you realize that?"

He laughed uneasily. "I can get you a ring. Katherine knows a witch."

"Of course she does."

"You could have a bracelet instead… or maybe a necklace."

She frowned, "I like _this_ ring, Damon."

A nervous bead of sweat dropped down to his chin. "Then how will I be able to walk in the sun?"

She slid the ring down her middle finger, where it still hung loosely, admiring it. "Perhaps Katherine will know. We can ask once she returns."

He pressed his ear to the wall behind him, where Stefan and Katherine's room sat on the other side. He did not hear anything. "Until then, maybe you could close that window."

"I am basking, Damon!" Her smile was too big; it was not real. "Give me a moment, won't you?"

"Elena, please tell me what is happening."

The false happiness fell from her face all at once. "I died because of you," she snarled. "Did you know that? Our baby died because of you."

He gulped, "I would never hurt that baby."

"Oh, but you did. Think about it, Damon. I was a walking corpse. How could it have survived inside of me? You knew you were hurting me and you continued still."

"I-"

"It is no matter," she said, waving her hand as if to dismiss him. "I have a plan."

A knock came at the door and he grasped at something to cover himself with. He had to settle for his hands.

Elena hopped up cheerily, all evidence of her previous outburst gone. She opened the door, unbothered by her nudity. A blonde greeted her with a smile. Damon's stomach dropped. He knew the girl. She was there the previous night, the one who watched him from far away. He had thought to feed on her at one point.

"Caroline," Elena said, letting her into the room. "I was hoping you would come soon."

The girl called Caroline handed Elena a dark bag that she began pulling clothes out of. She dressed herself as Caroline studied Damon. "He is so much prettier up close," she giggled.

"A pretty fool," Elena muttered.

Caroline perked up on the sound of something outside. "He's here," she said.

"Good." Elena slid Damon's ring around a silver chain and clasped it around her own neck. "Wouldn't want it to slip off," she winked.

"Who is here?" Damon said. "What are you going to do to me?"

Elena looked to him, feigning compassion. "Oh, it isn't you I am after. Don't you see? This is all Katherine's fault. I am going to kill her."

"She's stronger than you," he warned.

"Like I said, I have a plan. First, I needed your ring, which was… embarrassingly easy to get. Then I needed people stronger and more experienced than I. Katherine and Caroline have a long and arduous history." Caroline made a face like she was sucking on a lemon. "No matter. We are both united in our desire to rid this planet of her." The two women shared a look unlike any Damon had ever seen. True viciousness stained Elena's smile, so it almost looked like she was snarling.

"Who else?" he gulped. "You two alone may not be as strong as you think."

The same look passed between the two. "Do not worry about us. We have someone more powerful than us all."

"Who?" he asked again.

"His name is Klaus."


	28. After

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

**After**

_Philadelphia, Pennsylvania_

_1876_

Naked and afraid, Damon waited. He had spilled no blood and he had broken no bones, but he felt as though he had suffered a great injury. He found a space next to the small vanity in the corner of the room, cowering behind it to protect himself from the sunlight. _What will happen when Elena returns?_ he thought. _What if she never does? _

He set aside his panic and rage to collect his thoughts. _The sun must sleep_, he thought. He said it over and over as he watched the sunlight creep closer to him, never relaxing until it finally began to recede toward the window again.

Once the sun was retreating and he was able to think properly, he mapped exactly what he would do once he was free of his room: he would find his clothing, or steal some, whichever proved easiest, and then he would find Elena. If he found her, he knew he would be able to fix everything.

He spent the rest of his hours reasoning. Elena has been alone and confused for a decade. She did not have him to protect her. She did not have him to teach her. She was confused, and he need only speak with her. Katherine could protect herself, surely, from whatever she had planned. It would all be well once the sun set. He began pacing when the sun was tucked safely out of view of his window, slowly sinking in the Western skies. He would soon make his escape.

His thoughts were interrupted by the door abruptly swinging open. At first glance of the dark brown curls coming from behind it, he sped towards them, grabbing Elena by the neck and pulling her further into the room. He had her back to the wall before she could blink, only it was not her at all. Rather, a smaller version of her, gazing contentedly up at Damon with similar almond shaped eyes that were not brown enough. Her hair was too short as well, but she it wore as Elena had.

He fell back, embarrassed and confused, but she did not seem bothered in the least. She seemed comfortable, if not adrift from herself. There was something about the way that she did not look directly at Damon when she spoke to him that made him uneasy. Her clothes were ill-fitted, as though they were made for someone just a little bigger than herself, and moreover, they looked a little outdated. She stood quietly as though waiting for him to say something first, pulling up the shoulder of her dress as it fell.

In her left hand, she clutched a bundle of clothes. Wordlessly, she offered them to him. He snatched them from her quicker than she could extend her arm, but she did not seem to mind. Trying to keep himself covered, he retreated to his place behind the vanity, pulling it out from the wall to dress himself behind. "Who are you?" he half-snarled, securing his belt around his waste.

No reply.

He lips curled into an irritated frown. "Did Elena send you?"

No reply.

"Are you deaf?"

No reply.

He rushed to her once more, his hand wrapping itself around her throat before he realized what he was doing. "_Speak!_" he ordered.

"I've brought you something else," she said simply. Chills ran up and down his arms; she sounded so much like Elena. He looked down to her right hand and ripped the small silver object from her fingers before she could offer it. It was the chain that Elena had secured around her neck only hours earlier, his ring dangling from it. He secured the ring around his finger and the muscles in his shoulders relaxed slightly. "Where is she?" he said, trying to control his voice.

"Who?"

Again, he felt the blood in his body rush down his spine, alight with rage. He inhaled, and spoke once more, focusing directly on her irises. "_Where is Elena?_"

The girl looked down for a moment, biting her lip as though she was genuinely trying to think of an answer. Her eyes returned to his, empty.

He knew that this girl could not be a vampire resisting his compulsion; she was undoubtably human. He could hear her heart beat and feel the warmth of her skin. Elena must have compelled her, that was the only explanation he could think of. "Do you know the answer?"

She nodded.

"Can you tell me the answer?"

He was met by silence again, and the girl looked almost embarrassed.

He took a calming breath, begging for patience. "Why are you here?"

"I brought your things," she smiled proudly.

"Is that all?"

"What else would you like?"

He rolled his eyes, "What is your name?"

"What would you like my name to be?"

Exasperated, he turned his back on her and finished putting on the remainder of his clothing. As he laced his shoes, he turned to her once more. "What will happen when you leave here?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Where will you go?"

"Oh," she said, and her face looked like she had only just remembered something, "I do not intend to leave."

"You will sit in this room until Elena comes for you?"

"No."

He could feel it: he was on the brink of ripping the poor girls throat out. Perhaps Elena had compelled her to be this way on purpose. She knew how much he hated repeating himself. "Elena is not coming for you?"

"No."

"Surely the innkeeper will want to make use of this room once I have paid for it and left. What will you do then?"

"I will not have to worry about it then."

"Why is that?"

"I will be dead by then."

He eyed her suspiciously, but she did not seem to notice or care. "Do you think I will kill you?"

"She said you would be hungry," the girl said sweetly.

He stood up, taking her face softly in his hands, to bring her eyes to his. "Please," he begged, "is there nothing else you can tell me?"

His eyes peered up to him, empty. "You need to feed, Damon," she said quietly. He did not move. "She said you would hesitate."

Irritation prickled under his skin; how could she still know him so well when he did not seem to know her at all? He could feel his face getting warm as he waited for her to say more, but only her breath touched his ears, slow and quiet.

"What can I do?" she asked.

Silence settled in between them, though despair screeched and writhed beneath his skin. Elena was gone, he realized. She found him on purpose. She used him, and now she would be long gone. He looked fiercely into the girl's eyes. "_Bring her back_," he ordered. "_Bring her back to me! Tell me something, anything!_"

Her hand raised gently to his eyes, covering them. "Damon," she said again, and he wished it was Elena. Then as if to grant his wish, her voice came again, and he knew it was Elena speaking, though it was not her mouth, he was sure that it was her words. She had never been good at goodbyes.

"I looked for you. For years I wandered, lost without you."

"I am so sorry," he finally said. "I would have come for you if I had known."

"I know, darling."

He pulled her closer to him, burying his face in her hair and wrapping his arms around her, never once opening his eyes. She did not smell like Elena, no, her perfume was too sweet, but if he focused, if he inhaled at just the right moment, he caught it; the smell of honey and lemongrass that lingered from when the two women last spoke. Perhaps it was only his imagination. "I missed you."

"I know."

"Please," he begged, "please do not leave me."

She could feel her hands running gently through his hair. "I cannot leave once I am already gone."

His jaw clenched and he could feel the water in his eyes.

"Perhaps we will meet again," she whispered.

"When?"

"In earth," she said absently, "in stars."

He ripped away from her, grabbing her by the soldiers so she looked like a stranger once again. "That doesn't make any sense!" he screamed.

"It's time, Damon."

"No!"

She pulled a pin from her hair, gently impaling her finger. He was weak from a day without food and full of sunlight, but he resisted anyway, holding out hope that the girl would miraculously reveal Elena's location. The girl glanced out of the window; it had grown dark. "Katherine will be dead by now."

"What?"

"You must go find Stefan," she instructed. "He will need you now more than ever." She raised her hand back to his face, rubbing the droplet of blood across his bottom lip. "Feed, Damon."

He could feel the veins protruding from his eyes and it was no use trying to stop himself. He reared his head back before latching onto the girls neck. She tensed for a moment, digging her nails into the back of his neck before relaxing and returning to dragging her fingers gently through his hair.

Her heartbeat grew heavier and slower with every passing second, but he pulled himself off of her just before she slipped away. A tear had escaped the corner of her eye, and she looked less like Elena than she did before. He inhaled a deep sob and her last words seemed to echo a million miles away from him.

"Goodbye for now."

* * *

Stefan returned not long after to find Damon sitting on the floor of his very empty-looking room. A body laid out in front of him, its face covered by his jacket. He did not look up to greet his brother as he entered. "Where is she?" Stefan growled.

"Who?" Damon answered blankly.

"Elena!" he roared, moving further into the room as though she had something to hide behind.

"An excellent question, brother."

"She's dead, Damon!" Stefan said, his face flushed. "Katherine! She… we… there was Elena and this… this man, and another... someone else… I… they…"

"I know," Damon said, raising his voice over Stefan's rambling.

"You know?"

"I know."

"What happened?"

"I do not know."

"You just said you knew!"

Damon did not respond and Stefan slid down the wall. His face was bright red and shiny with tears. His shirt was stained red and his pants were covered in dirt. His nails were caked with crimson, and speckles of blood covered his face "She is gone," he moaned.

The sound was so unfamiliar it almost frightened Damon. He felt ill, for both he and his brother had lost someone today. "What happened?"

Stefan waited a moment to answer, collecting himself behind the wall of his hands. "We spent the night under the stars. I..." He shook his head as though confused. "I was ready to come home. The sun had begun to rise and there was nobody left to feed on.

"We were walking back, and Katherine was on edge. She kept saying, 'the air feels strange,' but I did not understand what she meant by it. I thought she was cold, so I offered my coat. As we were walking back I thought I saw Elena. Damon, I _swear_ it was her. Katherine became upset when I told her, but we followed her. It was a stranger."

Damon shot a quick glance to the body before him.

"Katherine grabbed her, but she was… expecting us. No, not expecting us, she… we did not know her but she knew us. I was... we ate so much last night that I was dizzy. I was unfocused, confused. She told us that you were looking for us… that she could lead us to you. I thought it was amusing, you know, because of her likeness to Elena? I thought we would find you in good spirits, but we never found you." His eyes clouded over at the memory, and a frown took his mouth.

"Where did you go?"

"I… we just walked until I felt Katherine stop. She was unhappy, muttering about the air. We passed the monorail, and she had grabbed my sleeve…" He reached down to where she had grabbed him as though he could still feel her fingers there. "A man was walking toward us, and she seemed to know him. I was not sure how I was supposed to act. I offered my hand, and Katherine screamed.

"It all happened so fast. First there was the man, and then there was a woman… she had flirted with me earlier in the evening. I thought… I thought that if… I thought she…"

"Stefan!"

"It was so fast," Stefan said again. He was growing more upset with each word. "Then Elena _was _there, out of nowhere. She's a vampire! They all were. All three of them were speaking as if they had known each other… well, of course Katherine and Elena knew each other, but the other two… they just jumped on her.

"The other woman held me down at first. She was so strong, almost as strong as Katherine. I had no choice but to watch." He shuddered. "I've never seen anything like it Damon. The woman twisted my neck in the commotion and that is the last thing I can recall. I woke up in a ditch beyond the fair gates... Katherine..." A sob broke from his throat. "They left her... pieces of her with me."

Damon pulled himself up, ignoring the numbness in his legs and moving next to his brother. He squatted down, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry." he said, just above a whisper. Though he meant it, he did not suffer knowing Katherine was dead. She was cruel, and that made Stefan cruel too.

Stefan grew angry then, shoving Damon back and forcing himself up. "I will kill that bitch!" he screamed. The veins under his eyes were swollen and his teeth had descended from his gums. "Where is she, Damon? Tell me!"

* * *

The moon was not in the sky, and Elena could feel a chill in her bones. She gazed out over the invisible sea, only knowing its presence from the sound of waves crashing into the side of the ship. She heard Caroline giggling behind her, but she hadn't been paying enough attention to her or Klaus to know what they were talking about. Her hands felt sticky, as though she had not rinsed all the blood off. She opened and closed them over and over, testing to see if she could still feel the blood running through the cracks in her palms, but it was too cold and they were too numb to feel anything.

"Elena, darling!" she heard Klaus call. "Come, sit."

She did as she was told, joining them on a low bench at their side. "Yes?" she said coolly.

"Is something wrong?" Caroline asked. "You seem a bit-"

"-less than thrilled that we just did away with the very reason for your unhappiness," Klaus finished.

Elena took a minute, weighing her words. They were right. It was Elena who started this all. A day ago, she could not sleep, for she was so excited to kill Katherine. Now something felt wrong. "Perhaps it's the cold," was all she could think to say.

"Cheer up, pet," said Klaus. "You've done it, you've killed the beast and now you can go wherever you heart desires.

That was the problem, she realized. What her heart desired was far behind her, too far, perhaps. She chastised herself silently. She could never forgive Damon for what he had done to her. He was a monster, and now she was too.

She sat for a moment and then straightened, vowing to forget it all, and after a moment she felt something click in her brain. She had felt a similar sensation before, when she fed too greedily; something inside of her would shift, and she did not feel sad anymore. This time it,she felt every muscle in her body loosen. Her hands were no longer cold. All thoughts of Damon melted away, but she hung onto the memory of Katherine's bones snapping in her hands. She rather liked that memory.

"You are right," she said, smiling suddenly. "I think I just need someone to eat."


	29. The Return

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

**The Return**

_Mystic Falls, Virginia_

_1912_

It was a perfect spring day in the town of Mystic Falls. A vibrant green stretched across the miles and miles of farmland that bordered the town. The sky was infinitely blue, and children laid in their yards with their friends, pointing up at the clouds trying to guess what they looked like. The town square was humming with the sound of footsteps and voices, vendors calling out to people passing by, the steady beat of doors opening, bells ringing, and carriages rumbling across the cobblestones of the street.

Everyone was so enthralled with the day that they did not seem to notice an odd-looking carriage that made its way slowly through the crowd. The body was mad of sleek dark wood. Golden lanterns shook on either side. There were no windows or door, a box on wheels. The driver did not appear to be worried by this, or anything at all. He sat, eyes blank and ahead of him. One might think he never had a thought in his life.

On the other side of town, behind miles of deserted fields whose soil had been exhausted and overused long ago, a man lay dying. He peered out of the window by his bedside, his expression blank. A tray of food sat untouched at his side, small flies circling around it. He did not move when he heard a knock come at the front door, nor when he heard a series of crashes and cursing. The door flew open after a moment of silence. When he turned his head to find the source of the ruckus, something flashed before his eyes. The curtains slammed shut and the room was dark, but he did not bother to look at them. He could smell something burning.

"I was wondering if you would ever come back," he said grimly.

There was silence for a moment, only disturbed by the sound of his rasping breath.

Chills crept down his spine when the phantom spoke, for it was a voice that he only heard in his dreams anymore. "Jeremy," she said, "look how old you've grown."

She stood back in the corner, as though purposefully avoiding his gaze. A long, dark traveling cloak covered her entire body, the hood hanging over her face slightly. As she moved towards him, he saw that something had been wrapped around her neck and face, just below her eyes, and she even sported a pair of dark, round spectacles. She undid the scarf from her neck and lowered her hood carefully.

Her armor fell in a pile on the floor. He knew she would not look as he remembered; no loose brown curls and no bright, young eyes. He did not expect to see her standing there, giggling and buoyant as she ever was.

He was wrong. She had tucked her curls away haphazardly at the back of her head, an escaped strand hanging in her face, as always. She came to sit at his side and put a gloved hand on each side of his face, placing a small kiss on his forehead. She smiled the same smile she always had and for a moment he wondered if it had all been a dream, and Elena had simply come to wake him up.

"I am afraid I knocked your door down," she said, rousing him from his thoughts. "We did not intend to arrive as early as we did, what with the sun and all. Of course, I will pay to have it prepared, or perhaps Jordan will do it. He is very handy."

"Jordan?" he said finally.

"My chauffeur for the moment. He is around somewhere, closing the rest of your windows, I hope."

She was so much the same and so very different. There was a sort of arrogance in the way she spoke. Invisible strings pulled at the corners of her mouth; her smile was empty and smug. She almost looked like she regularly met with her dying sibling and was very unbothered by it.

They sat silently for a moment, still appraising one another, still deciding what to say. Elena busied herself removing the long black gloves from her hands and tossing them into the pile with the rest of her things.

Jeremy finally broke the silence. "Why did you come?"

She thought for a moment before taking one of his hands in both of hers, patting it gently. His skin had a taken a papery gray look, the bones in his knuckles and fingers looking as though they would tear through at any moment. She diverted her eyes, trying not to stare at the dark spots that seemed to cover every inch of his flesh. She could smell the impending death coming from him; it coated his blankets and stuck to the walls.

"I think you know," she said finally, her voice just above a murmur.

"Come to see your dear old brother put in the ground?" He was smiling. "If I had known that was what it would take to see you again, I would have stopped going to see my physician. Perhaps we would have met sooner."

"Oh, stop," she said sheepishly. "I could not let my brother pass away without one final goodbye. I owe you that."

There were a few seconds more of silence while Jeremy posed his next question, though he was not sure it was possible to do so tactfully.

"So, she really did turn you then?"

Elena blinked, unsure of what he was asking.

"They all said Katherine was a vampire, that she kidnapped you and turned you."

"They?"

"The council, townsfolk who were privy to information that something dark had come to Mystic Falls."

"They blamed her for all of the murders then?"

"Well, it was not hard to put together once she had gone. John was dead and four people were missing. It could only have been Katherine. She marked the beginning of all of that trouble."

"It was more complicated than that," Elena said matter-of-factly, "and far too long ago for us to still speak of it now."

"Of course," he conceded, "but you, or shall I say _we_, are quite famous around these parts. Yes, everyone knows the names Gilbert and Salvatore here. I myself have pondered the details of the infamous night for many years."

"What do you know about it?"

"Nothing," he laughed. "Nobody knows anything for sure, though the rumors are rather fun to listen to."

She leaned forward, grabbing at the opportunity to avoid speaking of what really happened that night, or the days before, or the days after. It was all very boring to her. "What rumors?"

"Some said that the Founder's Council was really a secret society founded under Satan, and that they sacrificed virgin's for good harvest in return. That is why all of those people were going missing. That is why you went missing. That is why Stefan and Damon went missing."

A shadow swept over Elena's face at those names, for she had not heard them in many years. Her stomach leapt, but she crammed whatever feelings that seemed to be making their way up her throat back down before they had a chance to make themselves known. She leaned back in her seat as if to stretch, shaking her head until that little switch clicked back into place. A resounding calm spread over her, and her cheeks faded back from red to pink. She leaned forward once more, a smile back on her face. Jeremy did not seem to notice that anything had happened at all.

"There was another rumor that it was werewolves who were attacking those people, and somehow, one of them infiltrated the house and ate you all. The scene was rather bloody…" he looked toward the curtained window as though it were open. He could still picture that night as though it had happened only moments ago.

"Jeremy?" Elena said, tapping him on the arm. "What else?"

"Someone said that it was you who killed them all; you and Damon. They said that Giuseppe Salvatore had refused to let Damon marry you, and so you both killed him in a plan to run away and elope. I suppose John and Stefan got in the way, so you had to do away with them as well."

Amused, Elena brushed the hair out of her eyes. "Who knew the residents of Mystic Falls had such active little imaginations?"

Jeremy laughed. "Oh, those silly rumors have been around forever. I heard Katherine Pierce haunts the Salvatore Estate, and that children like to go there to try and speak with her ghost."

"What about you, then?"

"Me?"

"You look as though you've done well," she said. It was true. Though she had to travel around to the backside of the old Gilbert Estate, now a blackened pile of overgrown and thick foliage that once was their home, her brothers new abode was not unfortunate. It stood on the outskirts of Gilbert land, a cozy farmhouse. A small plot of land had been reserved for the animals in the back, and another plot to the side housed a variety of crops. It was well kept, though probably not by Jeremy.

He shrugged and laced his fingers together. He did not look disappointed, but his face was devoid of true contentment. "I was the first they blamed the morning after you fled. I can't say I blame anybody, knowing how it must have looked. A room full of blood, four missing bodies, and me, alive."

"You were only fifteen," Elena said, stony faced. Jeremy could not help but feel a little irritated at his sister. Though he could speak of what others said about that night with a smile on his face, for what everyone said was silly and obviously untrue, he could not face the reality of it all without feeling the same fear and sadness that he felt so long ago. Yet Elena sat there before him, calculating, unfeeling.

"Do you think they cared? They needed someone to blame. They needed someone to punish."

He waited for her to say something, apologize, anything, but she only waited for him to continue his tale. With an annoyed sigh, he did. "They arrested me, you know. I was taken down to the Town Hall and locked up in the cells of the basement. Can you believe that?"

She did feel a slight prickle of irritation, but brushed it off. Had she known seeing her brother again would allow her emotions to do as they please, she might have reconsidered coming. "But you were innocent."

"It took them a while to come to that, but eventually I was released. I had never seen an unhappier Sheriff Forbes," he chuckled. "However, they did their best to cast me into a particularly nasty light from then on. I was thrown from the Salvatore residence, and barred from my inheritance until I became of age. No one was willing to take me in. Even now, I am a pariah. I have been told that the children in town believe it was I who killed you all. Then I chopped you into a million pieces and buried you beneath the ashes of our home."

"Why did you stay then?"

"I wanted to marry Victoria Donovan, as you may recall. I was quite infatuated with her at the time, but her father absolutely refused. I was alone, penniless, and without shelter: no suitable match for anyone's daughter."

"I never thought she was a good match for you anyway."

"If only that would have soothed my broken heart, but I was quite distraught. Though I believe you are right, Victoria never appeared as broken up about it all as I did. Anyway, I soon acquired a job on a ranch only a couple of miles south of town. They provided room and board, three square meals a day, and a small wage."

Elena smirked, "What do you know about working on a ranch?"

"Nothing!" he laughed. "My employer was none too happy to learn that I was quite the novice."

"Were you discharged then?"

"Luckily, his wife Esther was rather sweet on me. She persuaded him to allow me to stay. As hard as that man was, he was always soft for her."

"Did they not know your involvement with vampires?"

"They only ever knew me as Gil, which is the name I took for many years."

"Gil?" she smiled.

"I had not prepared to give a name when I first met them. I thought it was very clever at the time."

Elena laughed. "I meant to ask you: though I seemed to have a rather difficult time exiting my coach, I was able to enter without an invitation. Who owns this house?"

A sad look glazed over his eyes and he turned to look at the curtains once more. "I gave it to my youngest son when I became too ill to care for it anymore." He took a long pause before he continued, as if to gather strength. "He died a fortnight ago," and then he added, as though he felt it needed to be said, "his name was Gil."

Elena smiled a little, "You named him Gil?"

"That name meant a lot to me once. It marked my new beginning. Once I took my previous name, it felt wrong to leave 'Gil' behind. He was rather like an old friend."

She dropped it, though she could not help but smile at the name Gil Gilbert. "How did it happen?"

"A horse kicked him in the head," he sighed. "I know; we were shocked as well. By the time any of us realized what had happened, it was too late for anything to be done. We buried him just outside that window."

"We always had bad luck in our blood," she mused. "How many of you are here?"

He thought for a moment as though he had to count them out in his head. "My eldest son moved north when he became of age, but he came back after Gil passed. He has a wife and a daughter. Gil's wife lives here too, of course. She is pregnant, so you could count her as one and a half. Then there is my wife and I."

A calm came over Elena and she was grateful that she did not find her brother living in squander and filth as she had expected. She liked the thought of him being surrounded by family. It was what his younger self always wanted.

They spoke until the sun began to set in the sky, Elena becoming more comfortable with each passing minute. She told him of her travels to the ends of the Earth. He told her of the small fortune he had amassed, even before he was old enough to claim his inheritance, by selling vervain to the paranoid inhabitants of Mystic Falls.

They went on like that for a long time, and Elena was grateful that she had fought against her greater judgment and come to see her brother. They got on just as if she had never left.

Just as she began to recount the tale of how she hoodwinked a group of bandits out of a very tidy sum on the way to visit him, she head sounds coming from below. She could hear Jordan snoring quietly from somewhere in the house, most likely the sitting room on the first floor. There was the click of a door shutting and heavy footsteps crossing the floor just below where she sat. Her back stiffened, and she stood up. "Someone is here."

He laughed loudly, gesturing her back to her chair. Never had she looked more like a vampire then at that very moment. "Grayson," he called weakly, "is that you?"

Though she knew it was silly, for a split second Elena expected to hear her father call back to them. She shook this thought away, annoyed with herself and listened to the footsteps moving toward them. She watched the door, nervous as to who it could be, for she had never liked meeting knew people in her un-life.

"Yes!" a deep voice called back. "I'll be there in a minute, pa!"

Elena stood once more at the sound, suddenly more nervous than before, brushing the hair from her eyes and straightening the collar on her jacket. She knew she might meet Jeremy's new family, she had just never prepared for it.

The door creaked and swung open, and there he was, Elena's nephew. She was almost shocked by his appearance, if she could feel such a thing. He was tall and strong, just past thirty, she guessed. He had those thick, brooding eyebrows of her brother, and the same nose too, yet she did not see Jeremy at all. This man did not share his father's fair skin, no, his skin was smooth and swarthy, toughened by working long days in the sun. Elena looked from him – who seemed just as taken aback by her – to Jeremy, waiting for an explanation. "Grayson, this is your aunt Elena."

A strange smell accompanied the man as he entered the room. She could smell the sweat and sun on his skin, but there was something else, almost like roses. She could not put her finger on it, for it was so subtle. He moved toward her and held out a reluctant hand, appraising her with a distrusting look. Jeremy had addressed her as his aunt, so he must know what she is, right?

As she wrapped her slender fingers in his tight grasp she was met with the unique blistering sensation that can only be attributed to vervain, and she very suddenly understood what she had been smelling. She wrenched her hand back from his and suppressed a growl that rumbled in her throat. Jeremy laughed, either blissfully or willingly ignorant of the tension in the room. "Sorry, Elena, I did not realize they would be harvesting today."

"Apologies," Grayson said, his steely gaze seeming to penetrate straight through Elena's head and into the wall behind her. She had a feeling that he knew exactly what he was doing when he took her hand, and considered very seriously putting her gloves black on should any more family members come inside.

Instead she said nothing, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from biting him, and took her seat back at her brother bedside.

"I saw a carriage sitting out front," Grayson said, "and I thought I should come check on you, pa." He shifted uncomfortably from his left foot to his right, and Elena was sure she heard another pair of quiet footsteps coming up the stairs as he spoke.

"Go fetch your mother," Jeremy said. "I would not want her to... be taken by surprise." There was something pointed in his words and Elena grew increasingly tense.

The quiet footsteps made their way to the door as Grayson stood. Jeremy turned in time to see a small head poking its way into the room. "Abby," he cooed. "Why are you hiding?"

She wordlessly leapt out from behind the doorway, scurrying into the room and grabbled hold of Jeremy's hand, never once making eye contact with Elena.

Elena sat down mechanically, trying to position herself in the most unimposing way possible. She never did learn how to behave around children after she died. "Who is this?" she asked, feigning calm though all the blood in her body rushed to her fingertips. She had a crushing desire to reach out and touch the child, and having allowed her impulses to control almost every move she had made for half a century, she was having great difficulty controlling herself.

"Abigail," he said sternly, "are going to greet my guest?"

"Hi," she said meekly, her voice garbled by the covers she was hiding behind. She could not have been older than four, and she was small for that age. Even so, she looked just like her father, though her face was still very chubby.

"Hello," Elena said, sounding strange.

The girl leaned over to whisper something to Jeremy, her tiny hand barely covering her mouth. Elena strained to hear what she was saying. It sounded something like, "Daddy said not to come in here."

As she leaned back, she finally brought her eyes nervously to Elena's, which, to her great pleasure, were nearly identical to her own. Her stomach flipped and the curiosity was making her fidget. She was quite relieved to hear the sounds of two sets of footsteps making their way to the room.

A woman entered, younger then Jeremy, though Elena could not guess by how much. She shared Grayson's dark complexion as well as many of his facial features, though her face was smaller and softer. Her mouth was set in a hard line, and it did not soften at the sight of the family reunion before her.

Grayson swept across the room and took Abby into his hands without a word, though his expression gave way that he was very annoyed. The older women came closer to Jeremy, almost wedging herself between him and Elena, and Elena could feel herself instinctively bracing for a fight. She was obviously not welcome.

"Bonnie," Jeremy said light-heartedly, "I've told you about my sister."

The woman called Bonnie nodded, but remained silent. Elena smiled contemptuously, feeling her claim to her brother was stronger than whoever these strangers were before her. "Pleased to meet you," she said over-sweetly.

"I was just about to tell her how we met, Bon."

"Were you?" she said through gritted teeth. "Well, perhaps it can wait until supper. I am sure… Elena would like to settle in and collect herself. I imagine it is quite a strain to come knocking down doors in the middle of the day."

"In the middle of the _day_, yes," Elena smirked. She knew full well that Bonnie was not ignorant to her condition. Pretending otherwise seemed a futile effort. "I think she is right, Jeremy. Settling down for a moment would be lovely."

Jeremy nodded. "Bonnie can take you to the guest room."

Elena stood, gathering her things. Bonnie shot a furious look at her husband before leading her to the back of the house.

They passed through the sitting room and Elena grabbed Jordan by the arm, dragging his sleepy figure behind her. It was only at the last second that he remembered to grab her things. The guest room was quaint, and faintly reminded Elena of Jeremy's old room. It bore the same colors and nearly identical furniture. Bonnie parted with one last suspicious look and neither said a word to the other.

Elena gestured to a space near the wall for Jordan to put her things, where he sat everything down as gently as he could manage. When he was finished, he presented himself to Elena. "Are you hungry?"

"Famished," she said, though she was irritated that it was again Jordan's wrist she was feeding from. She was growing tired of the way he tasted and it was rather boring when a meal just handed themselves over. She missed the chase, and quite frankly, the sex.

He took a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her once she had finished. She took it in her hands daintily, dabbing at the corners of her mouth before returning it. He took this as a dismissal and turned to the bed, plopping down on his back and covering his eyes with his hat, ready to nap again.

Elena felt as though she could scratch her eyes out. She had lost track of how many weeks it had been with the same boring man, napping and feeding, feeding and napping. Her true self felt as though it was clawing its way out from just beneath her skin. The veins in and under her eyes had turned pink at some point during her encounter with her brother, giving her a slightly monstrous appearance. She put a hand to her forehead; no wonder sister-in-law and nephew had not taken kindly to her. Shaking her embarrassed thoughts from her mind, she began to ready herself for dinner.

She was rather overdressed when she entered the dining room. Though everyone was in clean clothing, none had gone as far as she had to dress up. She wore a slim dress that made her look long and elegant. It was one of her favorites. She had even tied pearls around her neck. Her new family did not appear to be at all impressed with her attire, rather they seem annoyed. Jeremy even looked bothered, for he had never seen Elena look less like herself. He shifted uncomfortably his chair, which did not match any of those around the table and had two wheels placed at the back.

She had to beat down her embarrassment with a mental bat as she took the seat across from her brother. It took a moment for Jeremy to introduce them all. Bonnie sat to the right of him, still refusing to look directly at Elena. Gil's wife, Olivia, was next to her mother-in-law and indeed very pregnant. She had a frail look about her and Elena could not stop glancing in her direction. A yearning grew in the pit of her stomach, and she again felt the pestering need to reach out and touch her belly.

Opposite of them and to Jeremy's left was Grayson, who seemed very interested in his empty plate. His wife, Lucille, was tall and domineering, though she seemed the most welcoming of the Gilbert clan beside Jeremy. When the two were introduced, she looked Elena directly in the eyes, and turned back to face forward without a word. Elena took the acknowledgment of her existence as a kind gesture.

Finally, there was Abby, who still seemed very nervous. She glanced from her parents to Elena, looking as though something was on the tip of her tongue. Once Bonnie had placed the last dish on the center of table and rejoined them, they all joined hands. Elena had not been included as Olivia had grabbed at Abby's small fingers from across the table before she could offer them to Elena. This did not bother Elena in the least, as she had long since discarded such religious burdens.

"Well," Jeremy said awkwardly when they had all lifted their heads. "Where was I before? Oh, yes, Bonnie and I's first encounter." She had taken his plate from in front of him and began to cut his meat into neat little squares. Elena noticed that his hands shook too much for him to wield a knife and she had a fleeting feeling that she was glad to never grow old enough to have someone cut her steak for her.

"She worked on the same ranch as I did," he continued. "I had only just begun my work there and I was quite miserable, seeing as I had no clue what I was doing." Elena noticed the ghost of a smile on Bonnie's face. "She worked in the house and I worked on the field. After the war, Bonnie and her parents stayed with their old master because he was kind to them and willing to pay. Right, Bon?"

A stiff nod was her only reply.

"I never even met her until I had been invited to eat at the big house by Esther. There I was, minding my own business, trying to eat without saying anything to warrant a tantrum from Mikael – that's Esther's husband, did I mention that? – when all of a sudden there is an angel at my side."

There was a clatter as Bonnie dropped the silverware in her hands on her plate and rolled her eyes at her husband, and incredulous and amused smile on her face. "It's true!" Jeremy said. "I had quite a lot to drink that night; you were glowing and everything.

"I tell her all the time I fell in love right at that moment. Never did see someone with as pretty a smile as her - well, you wouldn't know, but you get it. I promised I'd marry her and take her off that ranch. I didn't think it was right for her to live where she was born a slave. Didn't think it was right at all, even if they were kind there. I took the money I had made and bought us this little piece of land. Made a little coin with tobacco like Pa used to, but it was nothing compared to vervain. Within a year I had enough to give Bonnie's parents. They were sharecroppers, see. Nasty business. I didn't want them stuck doing that for the rest of their lives. They lived here for a little while. Wish you could have met old Rudy. He was the funniest damn man I ever met in my life. Funnier then grandpa Gilbert, remember him? Oh, and Abigail - no, not you, kiddo." Abby hopped up, excited to be a part of the conversation before her mother forced her back down. "She was the best cook in the state. I guarantee it. Taught Bonnie here everything she knew. Lucky for me, hm?"

Elena remained politely attentive as her brother went on. He sounded just like an old man, she thought, droning on and on about the old days. It almost made her laugh. She was relieved too, that Jeremy had found love like that, love like Elena had always wanted. She might have been jealous if she still wasted time with emotions like that.

Jeremy bragged about Bonnie's accomplishments as a musician and mother, and more interestingly, a witch. He spoke this truth very casually, as though every family had one, and his family members, including Elena, all looked very shocked at his candor.

Bonnie looked as though she could breath fire at her husband as he said it, but he only laughed. "She knows, dear," he said. "She knows about it all, and if she couldn't smell it on you by now it was only a matter of time before she found out."

At that point, Bonnie very aggressively rolled her husband away from the room, despite his protests, leaving Elena alone with the rest of the family. She smiled a little at Abby, hoping she would say something, willing her with her eyes not to be afraid, and as though it worked, she said, "Grams thinks I might be a witch someday too."

"Be quiet, Abigail," her mother growled.

Elena gazed defiantly at Lucy before turning back to her. "Really? Can you do magic for me now?"

Ignoring the indignant _hmph_ that came from her father, she shook her head. "Grams thinks I see the future, doesn't she daddy?"

"Can you tell my future?"

The little girl focused hard, her tiny features crinkling in determination, and then, as though she had been smacked with sudden clarity, she relaxed. "Who is that man following behind you?"


	30. Emerging

**Chapter Thirty**

**Emerging**

_Mystic Falls, Virginia_

_1912_

Elena sat in front of a large window in her bedroom, as she had done every night for a fortnight. The sky was pitch black and only a sliver of the moon was visible. The farmhouse was completely silent, for all of its inhabitants had fallen asleep long before. Jordan stirred in the bed behind her, pulling the covers up to his chin and letting out a deep sigh before settling back into the mattress. A large oak tree swayed lazily in the on the outskirts of the Gilbert's garden.

Irritation tingled in her belly, and for the thousandth time since she arrived in Mystic Falls she imagined ripping every thread of hair from her head. At least then, she would have something to do. She took the cigarette that had been dangling passively between her lips into her fingers, flicking the ash onto the floor. Bonnie hated when she smoked in the house, and it brought a smile to her face just thinking about her finding the mess strewn across the floor. She watched the few smoldering bits of ash gently disperse across the ugly brown rug below her, gleaming up at her like rubies, and then gently fading to a dark gray.

She replaced the cigarette between her lips and her head fell with a dull thud on the back of her chair. Perhaps Abby had been wrong in prediction, as both her mother and father had insisted, yet Elena believed still. How could Abby have known? Elena had been avoiding him for decades now. He followed her for as long as she could remember. She rolled her eyes just thinking of it.

_Stefan Salvatore_, she thought. _The gallant and love-struck ignoramus set on avenging Katherine Pierce, a murderer and madwoman._ Elena pictured Stefan, clad in a knight's metal suit, tripping over his own feet and accidentally piercing himself with his own sword. Her late "aunt" was there, tied to a tree, watching helplessly as Elena, the beautiful hero laughed victoriously before putting Katherine out of her misery. The thought cheered her some.

The prospect of Stefan coming to kill her was more of an annoyance than a serious threat, in Elena's opinion. He was reckless and stupid. He thought Elena would be as easy to kill as a fragile human. She had spent many years putting space between her and Stefan, for she was realistic. They were evenly matched, and should he show his face, she would have to put up much more of a fight than Caroline and Klaus, who were very old and very strong. It had been many months since Elena had heard any troubling news about her old friends.

It had been many months since she even bothered to give him a second thought. Then Abby mentioned a man following her. Of course, she was only a child, Elena reasoned. There was no way that her power could have manifested at such an early age. Even so, Elena remained guarded, more for her family than herself. Sometimes she wondered if she cared for them at all or if she would rather kill them than let anyone else.

It was a dreadfully tedious existence; she was stuck inside during the day with the curtains drawn, and she was stuck inside during the night, watching out her window. The only break from it all was feeding, which had grown inconceivably more boring, and spending time with Jeremy, though he had grown so feeble that even lying in bed and chatting with her was too tiring after long.

She decided that once Jeremy was gone, the Gilberts would have to fend for themselves. Surely the witch would be more than capable of killing a vampire, as she so often liked to remind Elena. Still, to ease her mind, she persuaded the family to assign ownership of the house to Grayson almost immediately after her arrival, though the family was less agreeable about inviting her in again.

Elena moved to flick her cigarette on the floor again, but stopped when she noticed a flicker of movement from the corner of her eye. The smirk fell from her face and she stood to get closer to the window. She was sure she had seen a figure out by the lone tree in the distance. She mashed her cigarette against the pristine crystal of her ash tray and flew out of her room, out of the front door and around to the back of the house. A horse whinnied from somewhere inside the barn and the leaves in the garden rustled against each other in the breeze. Her eyes were only slits as she scrutinized every detail of her surroundings and her ears were poised to pick up any sound.

Bumps ran up and down her arms. She was sure she was being watched, but she could not tell who, what, or where it was. "Hello?" she called, but her voices seemed to melt in the breeze before it could penetrate the vast darkness surrounding her.

Just as she spoke, a small figure appeared from around the corner of the house. She moved the moment she saw it, running as fast as she could, but was blasted backwards before she made contact with her prey. She looked up, bewildered, to find Bonnie glowering down at her. "What do you think you are doing?" she hissed.

Elena stood quickly, holding back her true face. "I should ask you the same thing," she huffed.

"This is my home, remember?"

Elena sighed, looking back towards the tree, still unaccompanied by whatever she thought she saw. "I thought I saw someone."

Bonnie followed Elena's gaze, suspicion carved on her face. "No surprise, you vampires always bring bad things alongside you wherever you go."

Elena bit the inside of her cheek; Bonnie was not exactly wrong. "I was just trying to keep you all safe."

The two were silent for a moment before Bonnie looked Elena in the eyes and nodded. She left without another word, leaving Elena to stare out into the darkness.

From that point on, she was far more invested in her nightly watches, though there was not any sign of movement since that night. Since their confrontation, Bonnie had been less outwardly aggressive toward her houseguest. The house begrudgingly followed suit, even allowing Elena to play with Abby during the day.

Elena spent most of her days doing just that from that point on. It had been a long time since she had allowed herself to go near a child. Something old blossomed in her chest when she held the tiny girl in her arms. It was a feeling she had not experienced in a long time.

One late afternoon, Abby ran around the sitting room, flapping her arms wildly and laughing. "This is how birds fly, 'Lena!" she screamed. Elena sat on the floor in the corner, smiling. Grayson sat in the seat farthest from her, his eyes peaking out from behind a newspaper. Elena could feel him glaring at her each time she turned away, but she did not mind. "Papa is sleeping, Abby," he said. "Quiet down."

Abby fell into Elena's arms, whining. "Little bird," Elena cooed, "don't listen to your mean old daddy. He's only jealous he cannot fly too."

Abby giggled, but Grayson did not appear to be as happy. He sniffed and raised his newspaper further over his face. Smug satisfaction settled in the pit of Elena's stomach.

From somewhere in the house, she heard Bonnie's voice, quiet and calm. "Elena, would you please come see me in your brother's study? I have something for you." Elena jumped as though the voice had come from right over her shoulder. She was not sure if she had simply heard Bonnie in the other room or if Bonnie was calling out to her in some magical way. Grayson had not moved, nor did he seem to care about what was happening around him. Elena stood slowly, setting Abby down next to him. "Wait for me here, love. I'll be back."

She crossed the house and up the stairs suspiciously, listening for some sign that something was about to go wrong. She heard a page of Grayson's newspaper turn and a wheezing snore come from inside Jeremy's room. She gripped the door handle firmly, every defense raised should Bonnie attack her, but she sat with her back turned at Jeremy's desk at the far end of the room. "Close the door," she ordered. "I do not want the others to hear."

Elena did as she was told and Bonnie finally turned to face her, a grave look on her face. "I love my husband very much," she began. "You may not believe it, but we were a very happy family once."

Elena took a step back as Bonnie took a step toward her. "My husband was so lost when he came to me. Alone. Scared. He had so many secrets. He spoke of you all the time, even before he told me the truth." She paused and for a moment Elena feared that Bonnie would become emotional. "He loves you very much," she finally said.

Her eyes had glossed over, though she looked angry rather than sad. Elena shifted on her feet uncomfortably. "I love my husband," Bonnie said again. "I respect him and I want every minute he has left on this Earth to be happy. However, I could not detest what he has asked of me more." She wiped a stray tear from her face and grabbed a small box from the desk behind her. "My husband has asked me to give you something, and though I agreed, I want you to know that I can take it away from you just as easily as I have given it."

Elena looked greedily at the box in her hands, for she knew exactly what it was going to be. It took every muscle in her body to suppress herself from ripping it from Bonnie's hands. There was another moment of silence and Bonnie looked as though she was arguing with herself internally, wondering if it would be possible to back out. Ultimately, she rolled her eyes and slapped the box into Elena's hands.

Elena smiled sweetly, and every nerve in her body was burning with excitement. She cracked open the little red box, and within, just as she expected, sat a small silver ring. She slid it onto her finger with a satisfied smile, so happy that she wanted to hug Bonnie as tightly as she could. She suppressed this urge, however, wanting very much not to die at that moment. The ring looked nice on her slim finger, small and elegant, an almond-shaped stone of dark blue lapis lazuli at the very center. "It will allow you to walk in the sun," Bonnie said. "He requested I make it for you."

Elena had not felt this happy in a very long time. Tears in her eyes, she finally looked at Bonnie. "Why?"

"His end is very near, and he has told me that he would like to show you something before that time comes. I think he pities you, as well. He sees how you crave to be in the world. He never wanted you to end up like this."

Disregarding Bonnie's very unwelcome opinion of her current situation, Elena looked once more at her hand. Nothing about her felt different, besides the giddy laughter she could feel bubbling in her throat. "He's too ill to go today, I'd rather you wait until he is in better spirits."

Elena nodded. "It is the least I can do."

She was shivering as the left the study, desperate to run outside right that moment, but instead she took a left and went straight to her brother's bedroom. The curtains on the window were closed as though he were expecting her, but he was fast asleep, tucked into his covers all the way to his chin. She considered for a moment peeling the curtain back and letting the sunlight wash over her, but she did not want to emerge from the darkmess without the fresh air in her lungs. Instead, she reached out to a beam of light that had come in through a chink in the fabric. It was only small line, but she feared it still. The hairs on her arm stood up as she came closer, but nothing happened when her hand finally made contact. She could only stare.

"I was wondering if Bonnie would ever give that to you," Jeremy said from behind her. He looked as though he had only just opened his eyes, but a warm smile was on his face. "She has had it for years."

"What do you mean?"

"I asked her to make it for you a very long time ago, and after putting up a very good fight, she finally made it for me."

Elena laughed, "How did you know I would come?"

"Because I know you. You are my sister."

Elena placed herself on the side of his bed and grabbed his hand, "I will never be able to fully show my gratitude."

He waved her words away as though they were a pestering fly.

She decided to drop the subject for the time being. "What did you want to show me?"

"Help me from this bed and we will go."

"Bonnie asked me to wait until you were feeling better."

"I'm dying, dear sister. It's only a downhill slope from here." A sad smile crossed his face." Go to my study and fetch my walking stick, I don't believe my wheelchair will make it where we're going."

"And you will?"

"I guess we'll see."

Elena followed her brother's instructions, returning to his study and grabbing the cane from beside the door. Bonnie was already gone by the time she arrived. When she returned, Jeremy was struggling with the buttons on his jacket. She laid the cane across the bed and helped him finish dressing. She was itching to go outside.

They snuck past the family who had gathered in the kitchen and out of the front door. Supporting her brother with her arm, she stepped into the sun for the first time in almost forty-seven years.

It was the feeling of swimming in a cold river until her bones chilled and her lungs were tight. Her skin had pruned and grown numb, but the light was like coming home and stepping into a hot bath. Blood rushed to the tips of fingers and toes. She felt clean and renewed. It was all very familiar, and then she realized what it was: She was alive. Tears dropped down her face, but Jeremy had the decency to pretend that he had not noticed. She leaned her head back as they walked, soaking up every beam around them. It was the perfect day to reemerge into the daylight, she thought; there was not a cloud in sight. Everything was still.

Jeremy moved slowly and with great difficulty, and as they approached the unused fields behind the house, Elena considered throwing her brother over her shoulder. It was not a serious thought, though. For a moment, she even hoped that he might slow down.

It was not long before she discovered that it was the lone tree that Elena watched suspiciously every night that Jeremy wanted to go to. Jeremy was breathing heavily by the time they reached it. Elena lowered him gently onto a patch of weeds, avoiding the dirt around them. He slumped weakly, removing a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing the sweat from his forehead. He was not enjoying the sun as much as she was.

She straightened and turned to look at what he had brought her to. There below the low hanging leaves of a very large oak tree, sat were two dirty stones. They were large and white, smooth as though the wind had been carving them long before she was born. Elena had not thought anything about them when she saw them from her window, but looking at them up close, she realized that words had been carved upon the rock's face. The stone closest to her was upon a mound of dirt that looked as though it covered a freshly dug hole. It read:

_Gil Rudy Gilbert_

_Like the sun that sets in the winter,_

_Gone too early._

_1912_

The stone next to it shocked her, bringing tears to her eyes once again. For the first time in a long time, she felt true sadness. It was cold inside her, and she wondered if it was because she was in the light of day that she felt that way. The stone was much older, and dirtier so that she had to wipe the face of it with her hand before she could make out what the words said.

_Elena Marie Gilbert_

_See you soon._

_1865_

The dirt below the stone was solid and covered in overgrown weeks. She realized that it was very unlikely that anything had been buried beneath it.

"Why?" she asked.

"They buried John in the cemetery by our parents. None of you, not Damon or Stefan or Giuseppe, received any sort of memorial. Nothing is buried there, I just needed somewhere to come and talk to you."

Elena sat down next to her brother in the shade of the tree and laid a head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry I left."

"I know."

"I'll be buried here too," he sighed. "Soon, by the looks of it."

"Jer-"

"I just wanted you to know where to come if you ever wanted to talk to me."

Elena stared down at her hands, feeling guilty, yet she was also growing angry. Why had it become so hard not to feel? "I will stay and take care of your family if you want… or… I can leave forever. I think they would prefer that."

Jeremy laughed, "Yes, I think they would."

"Bonnie can protect them, right?"

"I have no doubt. She will outlive them all."

"Do they need money? I can-"

"I was actually going to offer you money… if you needed it."

"I think that means we will both be alright."

They sat like that for a long time, listening to the sounds of the tree swaying above them. As Elena looked around, she realized she could see the chimney of her old house in the distance. It was the only structure of the entire estate that remained standing, though it appeared that half of it had been knocked down. She could just barely make out the lines of cement between the bricks.

She stared at the remains for a long time. It was hard to imagine that she had once called that sad piece of land home. It felt like a lifetime ago, and when she felt Jeremy shift beneath her weight, she realized it was.

Just as she readied herself to make the long trek back to the farmhouse, she saw something moving by the old chimney. Every muscle in her body froze, for she was sure of what she saw this time. He had been watching her, she realized. His back leaned against the bricks casually and his arms were crossed over his chest. She knew if she did not go to him now, then she would miss another chance.

She hurried Jeremy back to the house, again resisting the temptation to carry him. As casually as she could, she put him into his bed and promised to come see him as soon as he rested. Without another word to him or anyone else in the house, she raced to the door and across the field. It was hard to travel as fast as she would have liked, for the heels of her boots sunk into the dirt with every step she took.

Nobody was there when she arrived at the remains. "I know you are here!" she screamed. Blood was racing through her veins and her breath was raspy. It was time to end this. "Come out now!"

She looked up and saw someone crossing the fields toward the Salvatore estate. He was toying with her, and this made her grit her teeth.

The old estate seemed to sag after years of disrepair and corrosion from the weather. A crow's voice rang out in the distance, making her jump but never deterring her from her path. Once she came near the main house, she held still to listen. She dashed off to her left at the sound of his footsteps, but she heard the wind move around him as he fled to another hiding spot. "Coward," she snarled. "Afraid of me, are you?"

She heard something shift behind her and turned just in time to see a blur rushing toward her. She reached out and caught him by the neck, slamming him to the ground and landing on top of him. She froze, however, her fangs sliding back into her gums and the deep red veins that ran all the way down to her chin faded.

She had expected the wrong Salvatore. It was not Stefan, but Damon, smirking up at her instead. She sat back, wide-eyed and silent.

"I was hoping you were expecting _me_," he said huskily. "I am surprised to see you in trousers. Very fashion forward, Miss Elena, and nice for me." He raised an eyebrow, his eyes flickering down to her legs which clenched tightly around his pelvis.

She took a minute to come up with a response, still in shock. Damon seemed to revel in it. "Y-you," she gasped. "You are-"

"Not Stefan, I know."

She blinked, "I… I was expecting…"

"You know, I love the sound of a speechless woman, and make no mistake, we can sit like this all day." As he said this he placed his hands on her knees and pushed them slowly up her legs. "But I think we might speak easier up-right."

Blood rose in her cheeks and she flew backwards from him in a blur. "What are y-you doing here?"

"I came to warn you of my brother's newest scheme to kill you, but it seems that I carry old news. That, and I could not pass the opportunity to see you, of course."

She took a deep breath, straightening her back and lifting her nose in the air. _Now is not the time to cower_, she thought. She straightened the hat on her head and brushed a bit of dirt from the leg of her pants. "You flatter me," she said dryly.

"How did you know about Stefan? Was I too late to stop him?"

"Stop him? You think I need protection?"

He chuckled. "No, I think he does."

"Well, he is not here."

He shrugged and took a deep breath, "Oh, well. More time for us to spend together."

Elena rolled her eyes. "Well, let me know how it all turns out." She began to walk away, but stopped short and turned to face him once more. "Actually, it just occurred to me that I don't care how it turns out."

His cocky smile faltered for just a moment before he took off after her. "Wait! Won't you show me around?"  
"You did live here once; I am sure nothing has changed."

"What if it has? You would leave an old friend defenseless?"

"You know just as much about this place as I do. I have not left that house in weeks, or didn't you notice?" His cheeks turned a light shade of pink. "How long have you been watching me?" she said angrily. "I know it was you that I saw by the oak tree that night."

"I never imagined I would live to see the grave of Elena Gilbert..."

"Answer me! When did you come?"

He squinted into the sun to avoid looking to her eyes. "Perhaps… a few days after you did."

"I have been here for over a month," she said incredulously.

"What a coincidence… me too." She could not tell if he was embarrassed or proud that he had pulled one over on her. He risked a few steps closer to her. "Come inside, I'll make you a drink."

"You have been staying here?"

He shrugged.

She knew that she should not have gone with him. As she followed him up the steps of the back porch, a voice from within herself screamed for her to go back. She could not stop it from happening; she had spent so many weeks immobile. She wanted something exciting to happen.

The house smelled of rot, and debris covered the floor. Any item that was worth something had long since been looted, but some of the furniture had been left overturned or broken. She recognized the once beautifully polished dining table that was now leaning on only two legs. Someone had ripped the crystal chandelier from above the ceiling above it. The windows in every room had been smashed, likely by the rocks that littered the floor. They climbed the stairs, which groaned under their weight, but allowed them safe passage. The wallpaper in the halls showed evidence of old pictures and painting that had been removed from the walls. The door of Elena's old room hung from its hinges; she could see the canopy of her old bed had collapsed. She turned away, the whole place giving her an empty feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Damon did not seem to notice or care as he led her down the hall. He opened the door to his old room and entered, leaving it wide enough for her to follow. She could recognize what used to be his room, but only just so. The once-pristine marble of the fireplace was cracked and eroded and most of the furniture was gone. The broken frame of his bed leaned against the wall by the door. A memory flashed before her eyes, the last time she had laid on that bed. She frowned.

Damon had made a little nest in the corner with all of his things, though there was not a lot to speak of. He plopped down next to a heavy sack on the floor and dug in the pocket inside of his jacket. He slipped a cigarette in between his lips and extended the case to Elena. She begrudgingly took one and sat next to him. He offered a lit match to her before lighting his own. She inhaled slowly, trying not to stare at him, with his face awash in the light of fire. It had been so long since she had allowed herself to think of him, she wondered if she had forgotten how beautiful he was. She looked away before he caught her, sending ringlets of smoke into the air. "So," she said, "Stefan has finally come to kill me?"

"It had been a long time since I had seen him," he said, picking a piece of tobacco off of his tongue. "After you're… disappearance, he thought it best that we part. I followed him for a while, you know, hoping to keep him from making mistakes."

"I see that went well."

"They call him the 'Ripper of Monterey,' I hear."

She shrugged. "It was only a matter of time."

His lips screwed up into a sort of frustrated grimace, and Elena could tell that he had thought about this for a very long time. "You killed his sire, the woman he loved."

"She deserved it."

He took another long drag before speaking, for he had so many questions and knew she could leave at any second. "What happened, Elena?"

"Didn't Stefan tell you?"

"That- I meant… I could have come with you. I waited for you. Everything could have been different."

She snorted. "Still hanging on to your emotions, I see."

"It is easier for some more than others to let them go."

She bit her cheek, thinking of how she had been especially… feeling as of late. "You are right. Everything could have been _different_. Katherine ruined my life… she ruined your life."

He thought for a minute. "I was alive, technically. I had you. I loved my life."

"You bit me," she said through barred teeth. "You used me. Of course you loved your life. You were free to do whatever you wanted, with your helpless little human trailing alongside you like the love-struck fool she was."

His cheeks turned red. "Do you want me to say sorry?"

"Sorry would not make a difference," she sighed. "It is done." After another moment of silence, she said, "What is Stefan planning?"

He shook his head. "I have no idea, I only came to warn you."

"Only came to warn me, sure." She got to her feet, smashing her cigarette beneath the toe of her boot. "I should go."

He stood quickly too. "You won't stay?"

"If Stefan is coming to Mystic Falls then I should be with my family."

Trying to mask his disappointment, he nodded. "How is Jeremy?"

"Dying," she said and her voice quivered a little as she said it. Without another word, she slammed the door behind her, and he could hear her steps all the way out the back door from whence they came. Though Damon was weary that Elena may never reappear to him again, he could not help but smile at her pain, for this meant that it could be felt.


	31. Myrtle's

**Chapter Thirty-One**

**Myrtle's**

_Mystic Falls, Virginia_

_1912_

Elena struggled to sleep that night, though she desperately wished to be unconscious. Jordan sat, compelled, awake, and vigilant in the chair by the window, and every noise that he made seemed to reverberate through the room as though they were in the center of a great hall.

Her thoughts were plagued by images of Damon. First, she only pictured his mouth in that irritating smirk, then his eyes raking against her skin like diamonds on glass. She could still feel his hands running up her thighs. She sat up before her thoughts could run away any more than they already had. She jammed her fingers into her eyes until she saw blue and green spots. She sat like that for hours, no longer pretending to sleep and thinking of how much she hated him. Then, uninvited, she would again picture his smile or hear his laugh, and she would suddenly be filled with the desire to forget it all and turn over to find him lying next to her. She finally fell asleep with a thick pillow caught in her very tight grip.

She awoke in a very foul mood. Jordan, his back hunched and his eyes struggling to stay open, was unfortunate to be the first to come upon her. She wrenched him out of his chair and fed on him without warning, something he was not used to. She left him to clean himself, granting him permission to sleep, while she readied for the day.

She stared out of the window as she put on her earrings, ignoring the faint hope that she would see Damon watching her from the oak tree. She made a decision, staring at the waving branches, that she would tell him to leave.

Lucy had just come from the kitchen as Elena made her way to the front door. "Where do you think you are going?"

Elena could not help feeling smug as she adjusted her hat in the mirror above the fire place. "I felt like a walk," she said.

Lucy opened her mouth to say something but stopped herself when she spotted the ring on Elena's finger. Elena braced for a fight, but Lucy left the room without another word and Elena heard a door slam somewhere deep within the house. For a moment, she tried to remember if she was supposed to keep the ring a secret. She finally decided that it would not make a difference either way, and continued out of the door.

It was brisk day, completely devoid of clouds. She trekked across the field very casually, so it would appear to anyone who might be watching that she was very underwhelmed with wherever she was going. This was a very unimportant visit, with absolutely no effect on her at all. Why, she had almost forgotten to even make the trip at all. At least that is what she hoped she looked like.

She entered the old Salvatore house without knocking, for she was sure he would hear her anyway. She could hear his feet crossing from one end of his room to the other; he was rummaging through something by the sound of it.

Damon was bent over a sack of things when she entered, shoving his arm down to the very bottom to retrieve a very wrinkled shirt. He was shirtless, of course, and it occurred to her that he was probably that way on purpose. She blinked, willing herself to look at his eyes and only his eyes. He looked very pleased with himself.

"Damon," she said through pursed lips.

He slipped his arms into his shirt, leaving it unbuttoned. "I wasn't expecting you back so soon."

"You were arrogant to expect me back at all."

"Arrogant," he smirked, raising a finger in the air, "but correct."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I hope you aren't feeling too happy that I've come."

"Why is that?"

"I came to tell you to leave."

He did not seem as hurt by this as she hoped. "I'll be happy to, but unfortunately, I can't leave without my brother, and anyone else who would like to join us, of course."

"So, that is your plan, then? Follow me around, waiting for Stefan to come running with his stakes raised, and then…"

"I talk some sense into him and nobody I care about gets hurt."

She raised her hands to her chest as though deeply touched. "My hero!"

He appeared right in front her, taking her by surprise. She drew in a tiny breath and held it in the pit of her lungs as he spoke, looming over her with his nose just inches from her face. "We both know that I have not given up on winning back your affection, Elena. It's only a matter of time before you give in, and if I need to use my poor, stupid brother as an excuse to drive you crazy, then… so be it."

Elena felt nervousness surging through her veins, and she could feel the blood buzzing right below her skin. She wondered if Damon could hear it. He looked very menacing at that moment, though that is not what scared her at all. Rather, she feared she might give in for just a second. She could feel herself being pulled toward him as though ropes had been tied around her midsection. He could feel it too.

Before he could come any closer, she turned her face away, noticing a pair of shoes lying by the door. "Were you going somewhere?"

He dropped his chin to his chest, masking his disappointment before coming to look at her again. "I was thinking of going into town," he said buttoning up his shirt.

"For?"

"I needed to pick up a few things, you know: stamps, some thread, and maybe a tasty little brunette." He grabbed his jacket that had been strewn across and old chair with only three legs and put it on. "Care to join?"

"Where could you possibly find a safe place to feed in this town?"

"It's been a long time since vervain was in high demand, Elena. You come upon it in jewelry every now and then, but nobody but the founding families and the exceptionally wealthy can afford to put it in all of their meals or smoke it in their cigars. All I need is somewhere dark and quiet to feed without getting caught."

"And where would one find such a convenient place?"

"It isn't far from here, on Mound Street."

On the outskirts of Mystic Falls was an old street called _Mont_. When Damon and Elena were still very young, perhaps only twelve and nine years old, all the children, for there were very few before the township was declared, would sneak down to a ravine that lay just beyond the end of the road.

A boy named Tyler, the youngest son of Mayor Lockwood, was rather vulgar for such a young boy. He once showed all the boys in town a picture within a locket of his fathers. It was of a woman, though not particularly beautiful, who smiled very widely at the camera. She only wore a silk robe that was wide open. She held her arms above her head and a long string of pearls dipped right between her breasts. Her legs were open to the camera, revealing the darkness between her legs. The boys in the neighborhood were all very fascinated by it.

Among Tyler Lockwood's similar accomplishments, it was he who changed a small piece of Mystic Falls' history forever. You see, the view from this ravine was quite breathtaking in its day. A ridge of mountains peaked up in the distance, and below, there lay a field of green. One day, when the children were out much later than their mothers might have liked, Tyler stood staring up at the mountains with a very peculiar smile on his face. He had just made the greatest discovery of his young life: the mountains, which were admittedly very round, both had matching peaks that raised up in the center giving them the resemblance of a woman's breasts growing out from the ground. The boys all thought this was a hysterical discovery, but Elena never knew what they meant until much later in her life.

That is how that little road came to be known as Mound, and it was such a commonplace name that even the adults came to know it as such. It was appropriate, then, when little Mont Street came to be known as a very indecent sort of place. The children were no longer allowed to play in the ravine and any respectable person would never be caught wandering near it. It even became the focal point for the sale of alcohol in the twenties.

At the very end of the road was a little two-story building that looked very plain from the outside. Only one sign hung crookedly on the walls. _Strangers Cordially Welcome_, it said. The lights always stayed on late into the night.

The second Damon mentioned Mound Street, Elena knew that this was exactly the place that Damon was speaking of.

"Myrtle's?" she gasped. "Oh, Damon, you're not going to Myrtle's to feed are you?"

He laughed. "I reckoned you would feel above it."

She could feel herself growing very red. "I… they… I had no idea you were so desperate."

"Oh, it really is a lot of fun. They love me there."

"And… nobody suspects anything?"

He raised an eyebrow. "As long as I bite them where no one can see."

She rolled her eyes and brushed past him so that they were not standing so close anymore. "You're disgusting."

"Well, I have to eat, and you aren't offering to share that little friend of yours, so, off I must go."

"Wait," she said, though she could not give him a reason why she needed him to stay any longer.

He had just slipped on his last shoe and was slipping his cigarette case into his pocket along with a thick clip of money. "Come along, Elena. Give it a chance."

It was the thought of Jordan that ultimately convinced her to go. She thought of going home to find him reading, as he often did, and politely taking his wrist to satiate her hunger. She made him so comfortable that she might as well have turned the page for him.

When they arrived at Myrtle's, Elena realized she had never seen it up close. She could feel nervous sweat forming at the base of her neck. Damon offered his arm, which she begrudgingly took, and they marched up the steps. The door opened before either of them could reach out and open it themselves. The woman who greeted them must have been near seventy, though she carried herself as though she was much younger. She was very finely dressed, but her clothing looked like it was from thirty years earlier. Her hair was streaked gray and stacked neatly on top of her head. She was all eyes for Damon and did not even seem to even notice Elena.

"My, my," she cooed, "if it isn't my favorite customer." She gave him a kiss on each of his cheeks and took another moment to admire him before turning to his guest. Elena smiled, embarrassed, but did not say a word.

Damon gave her a little push forward, "Myrtle," he said, "This is my friend… Marie. She and I have… similar tastes and I told her how accommodating your girls are."

Myrtle nodded and took Elena by the hand. "I would love to introduce you, darling."

Inside, the walls were covered in garish pink wallpaper and furniture to match. She took them into the parlor, which was empty. "Sit hear, loves. I'll fetch you something to drink." Elena settled uncomfortably on a chair made of velvet, positioning herself far from Damon. He did not seem to mind. He had made himself very comfortable on the couch beside her, propping his feet upon the coffee table. Before Myrtle returned a few girls came down the steps, clunking loudly in their healed boots. Again, they took no notice of Elena, but plopped down around Damon on the couch. He looked right at home.

"Oh, good, they've come," Myrtle said when she returned, setting a tray down by Damon's feet. She handed him a glass of bourbon. "Marie, dear, I was not sure what you wanted to drink. I can make whatever you like."

"This will do," Elena smiled, pouring the clear amber liquid into a glass that matched Damon's.

Myrtle nodded and poured herself a cup as well. "You can go up whenever you both are ready, Mister Zachary. I've already let her know you are coming."

Damon nodded and gave the girl on his right a small pat on the knee before standing up. He offered Elena his hand but she didn't take it. "Mister Zachary?" she said as she followed him.

"I couldn't very well run around telling everyone my real name, could I? It was my uncle's name."

"I remember."

They turned into the very first door at the top of the stairs and Myrtle closed it quietly behind them. The room was every bit as pink as the rest of the house, but more lavish. Elena though that whoever occupied it must have been very popular, and when she finally spotted her coming from behind a folding screen in the corner, she realized why. She was smaller than Elena, with long dark brown hair that fell in waves down her pale shoulders. "Zachary," she beamed.

He went forward and kissed her on the hand. "April, you look as lovely as always."

Jealousy boiled in Elena's stomach, much to her chagrin. "I'm Marie," she blurted, just to get the woman's attention and hopefully separate their hands.

April rushed forward and kissed her on each cheek. "I was so excited to hear that you brought a friend, Zachary. She is pretty, isn't she?"

"I could not agree more," he grinned, sitting on a plush chair by the window.

April scurried over to him and sat on his lap, planting a tiny kiss on his cheek. "I was worried about you," she said. "You haven't been to see me in so long."

"It was only a few days."

"It was too long, darling."

The veins under his eyes darkened and it really must have been too long because he went to bury himself in her neck without saying another word. Elena turned to look away because she too was feeling a little hollow, but April hopped up before Damon could pierce her skin. "Just a few more moments, darling. I'm going to fetch someone for your friend. Do you have any preferences, Marie?"

"Preferences?" she asked.

"Oh, blonde or brunette, dark skin or light, big or small, you know, that sort of thing."

"No, thank you. Anyone is fine." April left without another word and Elena noticed that Damon's foot had begun to nervously bounce up and down. "I don't understand, Damon. Everyone is just happy to offer a vein here?"

"Well, I had to compel them all, which took a while."

"Did you compel them to be so nice?"

"No, I'm just a really big spender," he smirked. "They love it."

Just then, April returned with a very small girl in tow. "This is Charlotte," she said, and went to tend to Damon without another word. Charlotte, to Elena's disappointment, did not look like she would be a very filling meal.

"Everyone calls me Charlie," she said.

"I'm Marie," Elena said awkwardly.

Charlie must have thought that there was not much else to say because she promptly offered her wrist to Elena. Elena peaked at Damon, who was buried deep in April's neck. "Charlie, would you mind…" and her voice trailed off because she did not know how to phrase her question. It was all very uncomfortable and not nearly as exciting as Elena hoped. Charlie seemed to understand her meaning and laughed, brushing her hair behind her back. "Of course," she giggled.

Elena was a little rougher than she needed to be, but to hear the tiny yelp that came from Charlie's throat brought bumps to her skin. The blood came out so fast that she could feel it, warm and fresh, pouring over her chin. Soon the room faded away from her and she was swimming in pink velvet until it turned to red and she was drowning in it.

"Elena," Damon said, wrenching her back from the now unconscious girl's neck. April had come to clean her up before the blood stained any of her belongings, though she did not appear to be at all upset. Her neck was void of any wounds. Elena turned, in a daze, just in time to catch Damon offering his wrist to Charlie, who promptly opened her eyes.

"Why don't you two run and take care of that stain before it sets," he said, brushing Charlie's cheek. "_Don't come back until we have left_."

He turned his attention to Elena once they were gone, mopping up the blood from her neck and chest with his handkerchief. "I would have requested Betty if I had known you were so hungry," he grimaced.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she said, forcing her eyes to focus. It had been a long time since she had fed like that.

"Nothing," he chuckled. "Are you feeling well?" Her cheeks were flushed and she was short of breath. He could see the veins in her face and eyes pulsating. He had never seen anything like it.

"I feel wonderful," she breathed. Her eyes were alight, and a calm warmth spread over her body like after she finished her nightly glass of whiskey.

Elena set Jordan free that very night, and returned to the brothel almost every night after. Her life was much more interesting from then on. She had grown very fond of a girl there named Sage, whose blood was always laced with the faint taste of blackberries. They were her favorite, Myrtle once told her, practically the only thing she ate. That's why her fingers were always stained a faint purple. Sage's voice was deep and husky, and Elena loved to hear it crack when she first pierced the skin of her soft neck. Damon preferred a quiet meal, but Elena liked for the girls to squirm. She never compelled away their fear.

Each day, just as the sun began to set, she would meet Damon at the crumbled fireplace of her old house and they would walk together all the way to Mound Street. If someone saw them, they just looked like any other young couple, taking in the view of the sunset. In reality, it was like they were ghosts of their former selves, walking up the road to go the post office because that was the only way that the two could be alone. All that was missing was Damon's box full of stones.

They would exchange stories of their travels since they had last met. It became a game of whose stories were more exciting. Elena almost always won, as she had become much more reckless in all the years that they had been apart. However, their conversation always felt as though someone had drawn a curtain through it, like the ones at a hospital. There was something each of them was holding back, some topic that they did not want to touch. Neither of them ever dared to mention the Centennial Exposition, or Philadelphia, or anything of that nature.

One day, when Damon was feeling especially brave, he made the decision to draw back the curtain. The sky was blue and clouds rippled across it, thick and white like the smoke of his cigarette. It was warm that day; winter's dreary grip had loosened as February turned to March. He could smell the new blossoms of the trees; they smelled like luck.

"Elena," he said, looked down at the gravel beneath his feet as though it was suddenly very interesting. "I wanted to ask you something, but I don't want you to be angry with me if I do."

She smiled, waving a little black fan over her face to ward off the heat. "I'm interested to hear what could have Damon Salvatore sounding so nervous."

He forced himself to look up at her, taking a breath for courage. "When I last saw you-"

"Yesterday?"

"No… in Philadelphia."

She smiled as if she had been expecting this question for a long time. "Go on."

"I've heard of something our kind is privy to… I have not met many of us, so I don't know if it is true…"

"You want to know about the switch."

"No, not exactly. I wanted to know if you…"

"If I, Elena Gilbert, the warrior for compassion and pity, have turned off my emotions."

He nodded.

"I deserted my humanity a long, long time ago, Damon."

"Don't you miss it?"

She laughed, "Why in the hell would I miss it?"

"Now you'll never be happy again."

She spun around to face him, a gust of wind blowing the hair from her face. She leaned her head back to bask in the sunlight, as she often did. A soft smile spread across her face and her eyes were closed. "Do I look unhappy, Damon?"

"You look beautiful."

"Well, I just can't help that." She turned to take his arm and they continued down the road once more.

"So you do feel happiness?"

"How could I not on a day like this?"

"But you said-"

"I know what I said. Human emotion is complex. I abdicated those emotions that serve me no purpose. Sadness, jealously, fear, love… all of them make me weak, irrational."

"Were you… had you turned them off in Philadelphia?"

Her mouth set in a hard line, for this was the thing that she had never wanted to talk with him about. Of course she had her humanity then. She had spent a decade marinating in her rage in the years after her rebirth, and that was all she felt. She fixated on Katherine, spending every second imagining what it would feel like to hear her scream. Even when she was again face to face with Damon, her mania was only reinvigorated. She decided to spare his feeling rather than reveal any of this. "Yes."

"Would you ever consider taking them back?"

She offered a sort of sad smile to him. There was still so much he did not understand. "Vampires are not human. They are not meant to feel as humans do. That's why we can turn it off, Damon. Besides, they would not be the same if I did. My emotions are like starving children, and nourishing them back to health would be… difficult."

He wondered what she meant, but decided not to push it any further. They had just arrived at Myrtle's, and she happened to be leaning back on her stool right outside the door. Damon smiled, tipping his hat. "What are you doing out here, Miss Myrtle?"

She tipped back the rest of the amber liquid in her glass into her mouth. "Just enjoying this good weather, Mister Zachary. I'm assuming that's why you two've come so early." Elena could smell the brandy on her breath. "Go on in," Myrtle said dreamily.

They did as they were told, but something seemed a little off upon entering. The entryway and parlor were empty, though business was usually slow at that time. Most of the girls were up in their rooms, readying for the good business hours. Still, Damon and Elena shared a weary look. There was an odd smell in the air, though neither of them could put their finger on what it was.

They proceeded up the stairs and into April's room, where they always went. Damon opened the door, allowing Elena to step in first. April's back was to both of them as she was sitting in front of the small vanity by the window. She made no sound, not even moving to greet them.

"Hello, April," Damon said. Elena moved to sit on her bed as she always did, leaning her head on the cool metal bar that held up a soft pink canopy. Her mind was still occupied by their earlier conversation. She needed to feed to take her mind off of it.

"April?" Damon came up behind her, placing a hand on her should to see if she was well, but before he could say another word, April's head fell right off of her shoulders. Elena tumbled backwards off of the bed and against the wall, suddenly very alert. April's body fell like a sack to the side and Damon leapt out of the way just in time to avoid each of her limbs as they toppled to the ground. Her insides matched the pattern on the carpet nicely, Elena thought.

Damon flew to the door, opening it quietly and peaked out. Nothing had stirred in the hallway. "I think it's safe to say that we should leave," Damon said, offering his hand.

"I want to see Sage first," Elena demanded.

He looked to her as though ready to argue, but the look in her eyes let him know that she was not going to change her mind. Sage's room was at the very end of the hall. She was much older than the other girls, and not as popular. Her room was simpler than April's. It took Damon back to a long time ago, and he thought, just for a moment, of a girl named Rose.

Sage sat at her vanity much like April, and Damon knew she was dead long before her head fell to the ground. Every girl was the same, their corpses staring with dead eyes into dusty mirrors.

Elena did not look sad or scared. No, she looked furious, which was fine. Damon was scared enough for the both of them. "It's him," she growled. "Stefan, he's here."

Damon nodded in agreement and the two flew down the stairs and out of the front door. Myrtle still sat where they had left her. "Come again," she muttered, but neither of them paid her any attention. Elena needed to get to her family.

They dove into trees lining the edge of the road, so they could run as fast as they liked without anyone seeing them. They even crossed by the old ravine they used to play at. It did not take very long for them to reach the Gilbert's farmhouse; Elena could not recall a time that she had run so fast.

As they neared the garden in the back of the house, Elena rounded on Damon. "Stay out here."

"No!"

"My family is not fond of our kind, and if I stroll in with you in tow they won't take it lightly. Plus, you're not invited."

"And if they are in danger?"

"Then I will call for help and fall to my fainting couch, and you can fulfill that irritating heroic impulse of yours and come to save the day. Is that alright?"

He rolled his eyes, "Just… let me talk to him before you do anything. I need to talk to him."

She turned from him without a word and threw the back door open. She counted the heartbeats from within. _One, two, three, four, five_… she could not hear the tiniest heart beat of them all. Where was Abigail?

She quickly followed the sounds into the sitting room, and found them all doing just that: sitting. Each of them were stiff and looked anxiously to her upon her entrance. Even Jeremy sat there in his wheelchair.

There was an unfamiliar head that was not facing her. He sat comfortably, with his feet up on the table. Cigarette smoke billowed lazily above his head. "Elena," he said, "I must say we were getting a little anxious that you would never come back."

He turned to face her slowly, though she was not surprised at who she saw. Stefan looked just as he always had: handsome and smart. His eyes were a little wide, giving him the look of someone who would swallow you in one gulp if you looked away for just a second. He smiled up at her, but his teeth were barred like a feral dog. He was well groomed, contrary to what Elena had expected. "We were just talking about you."

Bonnie glared angrily at Elena, and for a moment Elena wondered who she would fear more if she could fear. She froze her features in ice, acting as though it was very normal for men who wanted her dead to make house calls. "Stefan," she said coolly, "I was wondering when you were going to visit. Making a lady wait this long? Poor manners."

He slipped his cigarette between his lips and leaned forward to offer her one. She took it and lit it herself. "I was just talking to your brother here about that pesky little patch of vervain he has in his garden. It has made my stay here very… difficult."

"He did turn out to be quite the magnate," Elena agreed.

"And you, Elena? You look like you've done well for yourself. I saw that peculiar stagecoach you're keeping in the barn; it could not have been cheap. For traveling in the sun, I presume?"

"Handy, don't you think?"

"Mm, and what about my brother? I know you two have been cavorting about. I was hoping to see him."

"He should come around in a little bit."

"Well, until then, let me fill you in on the situation. As I'm sure you noticed, little Abigail has failed to attend my get together. Though what can you expect when children play on the edge of woods with nobody to mind them?" He shot a pointed look at Lucy, and Elena realized that her face was swollen. She had been crying. "I've hidden her away to keep your family under control."

Bonnie's gaze had fallen back to Stefan, and Elena was surprised he did not catch fire right then. She knew, however, that if anything happened to Stefan then they might not ever find little Abby. "How sad that you can't face them yourself."

"I'm not so pompous that I can't recognize when someone has the benefit over me. Katherine taught me that. Do you remember her?"

She smirked, flicking her cigarette into the ashtray by Stefan's feet for Bonnie's sake. "Of course, Stefan. How could I forget the very reason that my life was ruined before it ever truly began?"

He scowled. "Yes, your life if _so_ sad. I don't know how you bare it."

"I certainly don't prey on little children like some depraved barbarian."

He slammed his fist down on the table, making everyone jump. Olivia gave a little yelp. "I'm done with this. I've been very clear with your family and they have all agreed to my bargain."

"Which is?"

"You give yourself to me, and I will return little Abigail all in one piece, Raggedy Ann doll and all."

She put out her cigarette in the ash tray before standing. "I'm ready if you are."

He stood. "You prefer I kill you here?"

"Oh, poor, sweet, Stefan. I also learned a thing or two from Katherine and I am not doing anything until I see that Abby is well and returned to her mother." A small sniffle came from her left.

"Fine," he said, "Elena leaves and Abigail returns."

He stomped to the front door, holding it open for Elena who exchanged a pointed look with both Lucy and her brother. She needed them to know that everything would be alright.

Upon exiting, she followed him around the side of the house instead of into the trees across the road, as she had expected. She looked around for any signs of Damon, but he was nowhere to be found. She wondered if he had heard Abby and gone to save her. They trekked the same path Elena made everyday to meet Damon at the old chimney.

"Shame what happened to this place," he muttered, kicking a brick to the side when they reached the chimney.

"Katherine burned it down. Did she ever tell you that?"

He chuckled, "She always did hate the wallpaper in that room of hers."

"I'm curious, Stefan. What do you expect to happen when we reach our destination? Do you think I won't put up a fight?" She could see where he aimed to go. The Salvatore house loomed in the distance.

"Oh, I hope you put up a fight. It will make it so much more fun when I kill you."

"Katherine put up a fight, you know. Who knew she could scream so loud? Nobody cared, of course. My friends compelled everyone to just ignore her, no matter how loudly she begged for help."

He rounded on her, his nose a millimeter away from hers. "Feel proud, do you? You must have felt really big taking her out like that, three to one."

"I wouldn't say I felt proud. I felt… happy. Truly. For the first time in a very long time. Every bone we broke, every nerve we severed. Mm," and chills ran up her spine as she said this, "yes, I felt very happy."

He slapped a hand over her neck and slammed her backwards onto the ground. "I was going to take you back to my old house, to Katherine's old room. I thought it would be poetic, my final act of devotion, but I suppose aesthetic isn't my greater purpose right now." His hand gripped her so tightly that she could feel his fingers breaking the skin on the back of her neck. She tried to mimic him, grabbing his throat to throw him off of her, but she did not have any leverage. Her eyes were bulging out of her skull and the vein was pulsing in her forehead. If he squeezed any harder, her head might have popped right off, but just as she began experiencing some real self-doubt, something knocked Stefan to the ground next to her.

She rolled up, grasping at her neck until the skin healed under her fingers. It was Damon who had tackled Stefan, and now he pinned him to the ground, though in a much less deadly way. "Stefan!" he shouted.

Stefan laughed. "It's been a while, brother. Let go of me. Don't prolong the inevitable."

"Nothing is inevitable! You can stop this now!" His eyes were big now, pleading.

Elena eyed the space around her, looking for something sharp and wooden. Stefan eyed her suspiciously from under his brother's grasp. "Damon, if you don't let me up, then I won't hesitate to kill you too."

"You wouldn't," Elena smirked. "He's your brother."

"Oh, but I would, and it will be all your fault. I will chalk it up to you, taking one more person that I love away from me."

"Let him up," Elena ordered. "We will just have to kill him, then."

"No!" Damon shouted.

"You have a better plan?"

"He's my brother, Elena."

"And he just said that he is going to kill you."

In light of the distraction, Stefan threw Damon off of him and sped backwards so that he was facing them both. Elena lunged at him, grabbing a brick from the ground and smashing it across Stefan's head, jumping on top of him as he fell back ward. There was nothing she could use for a stake, so she began to dig into his chest with her fingers, just below the rib cage in order to reach his heart. Then someone was tackling her to the side. "Damon," she growled, coming back to her feet in order to clash once more with Stefan.

Then all three of them were ripping at one another and it was very hard to distinguish who was who. Elena wanted to kill Stefan and maybe even Damon because he was in the way. Damon wanted to prevent the two from killing each other. Stefan had simply resolved to kill them both, which made it much easier for him since he did not have to worry about not hurting someone.

Elena's hair had been ripped from its intricate updo, and Stefan had a conglomerate of twigs poking from his black which Elena kept stabbing into him at random in hopes that she might get lucky and reach his heart. Her only advantage was that Stefan kept trying to rip her head from her shoulders instead of just ripping her heart out. She imagined it was because he wanted her to suffer.

She did not know how long they fought, but Damon eventually became such a nuisance that she turned her attention completely away from Stefan and twisted Damon's nose like a dial until it was practically upside down. His eyes filled with tears and he fell backwards, giving her and Stefan some much needed alone time.

He had stomped on her leg until it cracked, but she ignored the physical pain, shoving it to the very back of her brain just as though it were mental. She knocked him to the ground and crawled on top of him, replacing her into the hole she had already once dug through his shirt. "If you kill me, you won't find the girl," he gasped. "She's alone now. Scared. In pain. If you leave her too long she won't survive the night."

She felt her way past his liver, and she could feel something unfamiliar settle in her stomach. Fear? For Abigail? "I suppose I will have to find her quickly then," she grunted.

"What if you are wrong?" he gasped.

Then she found it, his heart, slimy in her grasp. "Vampires are good trackers, Stefan, you should know that."

She could hear Damon crack his nose back into its rightful position with a cry of pain. "Elena," he gasped, rolling onto his knees. "Elena, please."

She struggled to get a firm grasp on Stefan's heart. "It's the only way, Damon."

"He's the only family I have left." He grabbed her arm but did not dare force her hand, for he feared that he would inadvertently rip out Stefan's heart.

"I'm sorry," she said, and she truly meant it, but she knew she could not wait a moment longer.

Damon dove at her just a second too late, and then Stefan was dead. Elena tossed his bloody heart to the side, wiping the sweat from her forehead and indirectly leaving a streak of red in its stead. Damon pushed her away from his brother, clasping at his shirt and crying into his chest.

She sat to the side for a moment, unable to think of any words that would ease his pain. She lay her leg out straight in front of her, she could feel it healing. Stefan's skin had turned gray, but his eyes were open, giving him this eerie look as though he was still alive. She reached forward to shut them, but Damon grabbed her wrist. "Don't you touch him!" His eyes were glazed over and his face was so twisted in rage that he was barely recognizable.

"Abby is hurt somewhere because of him!"

"He lied! I found her in the barn, compelled to sleep. She was fine."

"He would have killed me!"

"I could have stopped him!" He grabbed her by the throat as though to finish her off for Stefan's sake, and then his face crumpled and his head fell to her lap.

She ran her fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry," she said, over and over. Again, she could feel her unwanted emotions on the threshold of her mind. "Just turn it off," she whispered, in part to herself. "Turn it off, Damon, my love. Just leave it all behind." He raised his bleary eyes to her, and she took his face into her hands. "We can be together forever, Damon. Just turn it off."

She leaned in and brushed her lips against his. When she leaned back he opened his eyes slowly, and he felt nothing.


	32. The Porthole

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

**The Porthole**

_Chicago, Illinois_

_1922_

It was a clear summer's night. Elena was surrounded by noise and people, encompassed by the hot air and warm bodies moving all around her. They were buried deep in the Earth, in a club called _The Porthole_. The only way into the club was down a series of stairs through the back of a restaurant called _Bon Ton_. Nobody could say how deep in the ground it really was, but it was not until you were halfway down the stairs that one could hear the low rhythm of the music emanating from below.

The place was dingy and poorly-lit, not to Elena's taste, but it was Damon's favorite. "Full of dames dumb enough to offer their necks for free," he would always say. He wasn't wrong, of course. Plenty of humans had a morbid fascination with the dark depths of the supernatural, and sometimes they explored it willingly, hoping for a little excitement perhaps. Chicago was the perfect place for it, a sort of hub for magic and monsters.

Elena had not yet indulged that night, though she was quite hungry. Damon promised good news, and she hoped that they could share a glass of homemade whiskey and maybe a tall, dark someone in celebration of whatever it was. The only problem was that he was almost two hours late.

For the greater part of the evening, she sat stone-still, watching the crowd move around her and imagining ways to torture Damon when he finally showed his face. _I could kill every thing in this room_, she thought. _See how he likes cleaning that up_.

Her daydreams only grew more malevolent as each second passed, until she discovered a much more entertaining course of action. She had not seen him at first. People moved across the dance floor like ripples in the water, slowly swaying back and forth to the smooth music that filled the air. Then the crowd broke apart for only a moment. His eyes cut across the empty space and pierced hers. She sat captivated for a moment before she grabbed her drink and moved to a table with a better view, off to the far-right of the stage.

He really was something to marvel at. A small band flanked him on each side as he crooned into the microphone before him. His voice was deep and slow, running over her skin like soft velvet. She felt quite hypnotized by the sound of it. His skin was dark and glowing like bronze in the low light.

She did not know how long she had been sitting there until the slow melody of the song faded away and was replaced by an upbeat ditty. She went to take a drink from her glass on the table in front of her, but someone had snatched it from beneath her grasp. "Lorenzo," she said sternly, taking the glass back before he could drink from it. "Why don't you get your own?"

Lorenzo had come into Damon's acquaintance soon after they arrived in Chicago. He was a compact and well-groomed man with a charming smile and quick wit. He immigrated to America from Great Britain long before he turned, and made a small fortune stealing and reselling arms from and to the Brits during the Revolution. By the twentieth century, he was so rich that he owned almost every building above and around them. With that much money, he had never really prioritized tact. Elena loathed him.

"I compelled this pretty little thing to bring me a drink," he smirked, "but it seems she got lost in the crowd."

"That's a hoot," she said dryly.

"What's eating you?"

She took a drink instead of answering.

"Where's Damon?"

She rolled her eyes and her head rolled a little with them. "Said he's meeting with some fella' who's supposed to be the big cheese around here."

"He didn't mention anything to me."

"Can't blame him… I wouldn't trust a sap like you either."

He pursed his lips. "Why don't you eat, love? Nobody likes a wet blanket."

"Except for cold fish." She replaced her gaze upon the man on stage. "Who is that up there?"

"New talent."

"He looks delicious. Is he- "

"Edible?"

She nodded. Damon would skin her alive if she brought home another witch on accident. Witches cannot be compelled, and they certainly have no fondness for a hungry vampire.

"Only if you promise not to finish him off. He's the sixth singer I've hired on in three months."

She stood abruptly, making no promises, and emptying her glass in a single gulp. "Tell Damon not to wait up!" she called to Lorenzo just before the crowd swallowed her up. A saxophone player had taken center stage by the time she approached. She caught the singer's eye, giving him a coy smile and a nod of the head. He hopped down from his place on stage and snagged her around the waste, spinning into the crowd. "I was wondering when you were going to come say hello," he said above the crowd.

"I'm shy," she lied, batting her eyes.

"Don't be."

"What's your name?"

"James."

"Well, let's not sit around and beat gums, James. Come home with me."

* * *

Damon always said they would leave Chicago one day, though it was never clear when. Neither of them ever fully settled because they always just expected, without saying, that they would one day leave. However, once the war was over, the city was thriving and Damon was fully immersed in the seedy underbelly of it all.

Elena had no attachments to Chicago, not to their lavish apartment or their few acquaintances. She could settle perfectly well anywhere else, but she could never bring herself to leave Damon behind. Though she did not feel love anymore, for that was something more human than she, a deep fondness attached her to him. It was something beyond the barriers that she had placed in her mind; something concrete, physical.

Damon strived for months and months to find something they could share. He wanted her to _want_ to stay with him. And he had finally done it. He was incredibly happy as he listened to the loud hum of the car engine on his way to meet her. He was late, really late, but once she heard the news all would be forgiven, he was sure.

It was late so late it was early by the time he had arrived, and the club was murky with smoke. He spotted Lorenzo by the bar and sat next to him. "Seen Elena?" he asked.

"Slipped out a while ago, mate."

Damon sighed, disappointed. "Then I might as well have a drink."

"I wouldn't keep her waiting any longer. She wasn't too happy when she left."

"She's never happy," he frowned.

"Maybe the broad has a reason not to be. You want a woman to act like an angel? You better make sure she isn't living in hell."

He paused in waving the bartender over, his finger frozen midair. "What do you mean? Does this look like hell?"

Lorenzo shot a critical eye over Damon's shoulder. Their neighbors were wrapped around each other. The woman had her hand secured tightly over her partners throat, and he was mouth "Stop" over and over as she burrowed deeper in his neck. The sight was hardly offensive to Damon.

"Depends on who you ask," was all Lorenzo said.

Damon sighed, his cheery mood already squashed. "Well, do you know where she went?"

"I'm not a mind reader, but there's only so many places you can go with a hearty meal trailing behind you."

He shook Lorenzo's hand and quickly departed without a word. He did not have to go far, her favorite hotel was only two blocks away. "It's the floors," she once said. "Blood doesn't ever stain the finish."

The smell of blood filled his nose as he pressed his ear against the dark wood of Room 319's door. He could hear a heartbeat sputtering from somewhere inside. "Elena," he whispered.

He heard a thud and a creak in the floor but she didn't say anything back. He gripped the door handle tightly, ready to break it down, but it swung open easily, much to his surprise. Elena faced away from him, looking down upon a dark lump on the ground. She was completely bare aside from the flecks of blood that left streaks across her skin. "Well, well," she said. "Look who finally came to visit." She slowly turned to face him and the front of her was completely drenched in blood. "James said you wouldn't."

"James?" he asked, indicating the lump on the floor. "That's his name?"

She smirked, taking a tiny step towards him. "Jealous?"

"No, I'm ecstatic," he quipped.

"You asked me to stop ruining my clothes," she shrugged. It was true; Elena had always been a very messy eater.

Everything was quiet except for the sound of James gasping for breath in the corner. The only light in the room came from a small lamp in the corner and it cast eerie shadows over her body. Her hair was short and curly, framing her face. He could not tell if she had painted her lips red or if it was simply an excess of blood that stained them. She left red food prints with every step she took towards him and something menacing lurked behind her dark eyes.

"When were you planning on letting him go?"

She cast her eyes down on James as though she had already forgotten he was there, absently running her red fingers over her lips. "It hadn't occurred to me."

Damon made to pick up the man from the floor, but Elena stepped in his way. "I'm not done," she said, but that was all she did to stop him. He bit into his own wrist and mashed it into James' mouth. There was cough and a terrified yelp as the life sprang back into him.

"_Calm down_," Damon growled. "_You won't remember anything from this night. Go home._" James scrambled to his feet but Damon stopped him again, buttoning the top buttons of his shirt and shoving his coat into his hands.

Damon shut the door behind him. He drew in a breath, ready to give a long lecture about why Elena should be more careful, but she was directly in front of him when he turned to face her. There was an odd expression on her face; something solemn. The blood was still wet and glistening on her skin. "Sorry," she said quietly.

He reached out and pushed her hair behind her ear, brushing his fingers against her clavicle as he did so. She closed the distance between them and cupped his face with her hand, as she often did. He felt there was something that he should say, that words were hanging thick in the air between them, but he couldn't get a grasp on them. Elena stood on her toes and placed a tender kiss on his lips, leaving a streaking of blood in her wake.

Chills ran up and down his back. He took her chin between his fingers and moved her head to the side, trailing kisses down her neck and onto her shoulders. "I'm sorry," he murmured into her. "I did not mean to keep you waiting." Elena smiled a little to herself as he moved on to her chest. His head floated down between her breasts and over her stomach until he was on his knees before her. She could see the veins beneath his eyes when he looked up to her. "Hungry?" she smirked.

He laughed a little and pulled her closer to him by her backside. She gave a small, delighted shriek. "You should have waited for me," he breathed. "We could have made a night of it."

"We can make a night of it now," she giggled.

She led him to the bed and helped him out of his jacket as he undid his tie. When she came to undo the buttons of his shirt, however, he snatched both of her hands into one of his. He took her by such surprise that he had already tied her wrists with his tie before she uttered a word. He pushed her backwards onto the bed and crawled over her, leaving kisses up her legs and abdomen until he reached her face. "I'm getting tired of cleaning up your messes, you know."

"But you're so good at it."

"Don't speak," he ordered as he attached her wrists to the iron bars of the headboard.

She laughed. "You can't compel me, Damon."

"Don't speak," he said again, "and I'll reward you."

Just as she was going to ask what kind of reward would come of her good behavior, his hand disappeared between her thighs. She gasped. "And what if I'm feeling loud?"

"Then I get the prize." His hands disappeared from her skin as he buried his head in her neck. She gasped a little as she felt his teeth sink in. He pulled back, proudly smacking his licks.

"Fine," she exhaled. "I won't make a peep."

The game was on, and Damon was determined to win. He didn't move nearer to her at first. He only trailed his hands over her skin so that they barely made contact. The hairs on her skin stood up in the wake of his touch and she felt like she was being slowly wound into a knot. He lowered his lips to her skin and his kisses felt like ghosts. She could feel herself starting squirm beneath his touch, which is just what he wanted. He waited until he could feel her arching her back up into him. She was silent, but only barely so. "What's wrong?" he cooed.

She didn't make a sound, but looked at him resentfully from behind her hooded eyes. He moved in between her legs, placing a little kiss on her knee. "You seem squeamish." He slid his hands up her thighs and just when she thought he was going to touch her right where she wanted, he slid right past and up her stomach, cupping her breasts. She bit the inside of her cheek.

He lowered himself on top of her so his face was just above hers and she sucked in a tiny breath. "Tell me you love me," he whispered. "Tell me you love me and you win. I'll give you whatever you want. Right now."

Her mouth set in a hard line, and she said nothing, though mostly out of shock. When was the last time either of them mentioned _love_? She arched her back into his stomach as if to say, _This game isn't finished_.

He gave a little shrug and kissed her on the cheek. "Oh, well. Winning will give me just as much satisfaction."

Back between her thighs, he sat very still for a moment; so still, that she thought he left her there alone. Her legs buckled and she gave a little moan as she raised her head to check to see if he was there. "Tut, tut," he smirked, and sank his fangs into the inside of her thigh. The sound of her groan made him smile. As usual, he had not spilt a drop of blood.

"Let's try again, shall we?"

He didn't wait for a response, and kissed the spot where he had bitten her, which was already smooth again. She braced for another round of just-barely-there touches, but he took her by surprise by diving straight into the heat of her body. It shocked her so much that she cried out. He pulled back, laughing. "Are you even trying?"

"Not fair," she groaned as he sunk into her other thigh.

He dove at her again, but this time she was prepared, and she bit down on her lip until it bled. His fingers ran up and down her center, drawing the wetness around her clit. Damon could feel the predator inside of him, preying on her vulnerability. She was at his mercy, for once. She could feel it too, and her eyes never left his. Every nerve in her body screamed and thrashed and begged for her to say something, to move closer, but she was absolutely still.

He let his fingers slide inside of her, and Elena breathed her assent. He slid inside of her over and over, removing his fingers just as her body began to relax. She kicked her legs in frustration and Damon began to laugh. "You're so impatient."

She couldn't wait for another second. With a defiant look, she pulled as hard as she could until the deep golden thread of his tie began to split down the middle. The skin of her wrists were raw, but nothing could stop her from escaping her imprisonment. He looked up just in time to see her tear away from the headboard. She wrapped her still-bound hands around the back of his neck and pulled him up to face her.

"I lose." Her voice was jagged and her cheeks were flushed.

He watched with amusement as she struggled to undo the buttons of his shirt once more, but she didn't care. She needed to feel him against her. He sat back and took her hands into his, muttering something about patience as he undid the knot of his ruined tie. Once she was free, she flew back to work on the buttons of his shirt. He just leaned back to watch. She let out a frustrated noise from the back of her throat and finally just tore through the buttons, forcing his arms out and throwing the shirt on the floor. "I always thought that shirt was ugly," she breathed, and then her face was against his.

She pulled him against her as she laid back, and he struggled to get out of his pants with her legs wrapped firmly around his waist. She ran her hands down the firm length of his chest and wrapped her hand around him, which was already hard and aching for release. She ran its head up and down over the heat of her center, soaking it in her wetness. He let out a frustrated sigh, for he had not won at all. He was at her mercy once again, and he couldn't be happier.

He stumbled clumsily trying to position himself just so. "C'mon," she sighed. He slid into her softly and she clawed at the back of his neck in delight. Elena was already so close by the time he began to pump in and out of her with quick rhythm. "Yes," she mouthed. "Please." He reached his hand between her legs once more and began to rub her with each stroke. Her eyes closed as warmth spread throughout her belly. Her mouth stuck open in a rigid _O_, but no sound escaped.

Damon slowed a little as her body began to shake, lowering his head down to kiss her breasts. When she opened her eyes, she felt something close to love as she brushed her fingers through Damon's hair.

She pushed him by the shoulders onto his back and threw a leg over him. She gripped his chest with her fingers as she rocked back and forth on top of him. He reached down to guide himself into her, but once she sunk down on top of him, she held his hands firmly above his head. He shut his eyes and let the sound of her breaths and the feel of her skin encompass him. _I love you_, he wanted to say, though he didn't know why that work kept coming to him.

She pulled his hands to her breasts as she sped up on top of him, feeling herself clench and unclench around him. She buried her head in his shoulder as he came, letting him wrap his arms tightly around her.

He didn't say anything, but kept his eyes tightly shut as she sat up, smiling slightly down at him. She trailed her lips across the red handprints that were streaked across his chest.

He opened his eyes just as she fell to the side of his body, slithering up his side and into the crook of his arm. Her big eyes looked up into his and she appeared to be very proud of herself. "I can never win with you," he sighed.

He thought she would say something further, but she turned away instead, quickly diverting her eyes to the nightstand. "Cigarette?" she said curtly.

His eyebrows furrowed, but he said yes anyway. He watched her figure, only illuminated by the dim light of the lamp in the corner. The olive skin of her back looked like the pictures of far away places he'd seen in books, the toned muscles rising beneath the skin like dunes carved from the wind. He reached out, if only to feel her soft skin for a moment more, but she slipped off the bed before he could reach her.

Her things were strewn across the floor and it took a moment for her to find the tiny case she kept her cigarettes in. She returned to Damon's side, sitting tall, and fumbling with the clasp on the side of the case. It took a moment, squinting in the light, for Damon to realize that this was not the new case he had just bought her. He had gotten it as a surprise in a little shop on the south side of Chicago, made of shiny sterling silver and little roses sewn into the soft red fabric of the inside.

The one in her hands, however, was made of dull bronze and seemed as though it had lived in the bottom of a very crowded trunk for much of its life. The clasp carried a small, faded ruby in its crown, and Elena could not seem to pull it open. The name _Elizabeth_ was engraved in small letters on the back.

Damon glared at it, never offering Elena any help in opening the stubborn clasp. She drew in a sharp breath, trying to control her shaking fingers. He could see the frustration growing in her crinkled brow. She let out a breath only when it finally sprung open. She leaned back against the headboard and passed one of the small, white sticks to him before reaching for the matches in the little, yellowed pocket in the case. She lit both of their cigarettes with the same match. "Where did you find that old thing?" Damon said, feigning nonchalance.

"Can't remember," she shrugged.

"I've never seen it before."

"Maybe you don't pay me enough attention."

He turned to face her even if she wouldn't do that same. "You know you are all I ever think about."

She rolled her eyes, "Don't flatter me."

For a moment, he wondered if she would be nicer if he still had his head between her thighs.

"Where were you tonight?"

"Hm?"

"I waited for you and you never came. Where were you?"

Damon took a long drag from his cigarette. He had completely forgotten the news he had been so excited to tell her before. "Well," he said, taking another moment to empty his lungs through his nose, "I was having dinner with that man I told you about a couple of weeks back, don't you remember?"

"No."

"Right, well, his name is Mr. Parker."

"Parker?"

"Yes, Parker. The witch."

"Witches," Elena spat. "What could you possibly want with a witch?"

"He's a very successful business man."

"Looking for a sugar daddy?" she smirked. "I thought you had Lorenzo for that."

He turned onto his side to face her, resting his head in his free hand. He ran his thumb up and down her arm. "I'm trying to make a living, so that you may have the life you deserve. No more snatching wallets and compelling ourselves nice apartments. "We can go wherever you like. We'll be rich."

"Really?"

"That place I had you wait in tonight is his. He owns a string of clubs from here to New York. They're undetectable to any undesirables, you know, coppers and the like."

"I knew there was something fishy about that place!" He laughed, but she was not as pleased. Now she understood why she had not just torn the place apart, leaving it for Damon to clean up. She was bewitched. "So what?"

"Well, I buzz Mr. Parker and tell him that I have a way for him to make a pretty stack of cash. His clubs have everything our kind needs: underground, active all night, illegal, and full of people willing to venture into the darkest recesses of their desires. Why not make a club just for us?"

He sat back, very satisfied with himself, though Elena looked unaffected. "Your conversation ran two hours long then?"

"Elena," he pouted, running his hands up to her chin and pulling her into his embrace. "I never meant to upset you. I thought the club would be able to entertain you while I waited."

She strained against his touch but not hard enough to break free. "I'm not a little puppy that you tie to a pole while you're away. I am not your pet. You are not my keeper. You are not my life."

"I was once," he frowned.

She wrenched against him, but he hardened his grasp. "Let me go, Damon."

"No!"

In a swift motion, she smashed the butt of her cigarette into his face. He flew backwards off the bed, pushing Elena with such force that she flew into the wall behind her. They faced each other, naked and chests heaving. Damon grasped at the scorched skin of his cheek and Elena's mouth twisted into an angry snarl, her teeth barred. It was the closest Damon had seen to a smile in a very long time. "I won't say sorry anymore," he growled. "I have been apologizing for too long, and forgiveness is overdue."

She shook her head. "You don't deserve mercy. That's what you never understood. All you have done to me and you only ever expected me to forgive you. You were always so quick to bat those pretty eyes of yours, compel your guilt away, and I was always too senseless to see you for what you really were."

"What is that, Elena? What am I?"

"The villain, Damon, don't you understand? I was so quick to blame Katherine for my misery. Even after I died and everything came back to me, it was her. I was going to have a child… I was going to have _your_ child… and it died." A burst of cold fluttered in the bottom of her stomach and it was something she had not felt in a very long time. Her cheeks grew hot and her throat tightened. "I was never able to grieve, you didn't allow me to, like I were a child who needed protection. You took away my grief and my love… and my child!"

"I'm the villain?" he roared. "Oh, that's rich! I suppose I ripped Stefan's heart out too?"

"Better his heart than my own," she sneered.

"Whatever's left of it."

She cast her eyes down at her feet, and she feared for a moment that would cry. The room was suddenly too quiet.

"Take me home," she finally whispered. "I want to go home."


	33. To Dust

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

**To Dust**

_Santa Fe, New Mexico_

_1932_

There was something about the way a hard-working woman tasted, Elena just couldn't explain it. She had her fair share of debutants and Daisy Buchanans, with their silky hair and shimmering dresses. The taste of their powdered and perfumed skin always tainted the taste of their silvery, sweet blood. They were too soft, too breakable; Elena was always left the task of gathering up the remaining parts of their bodies from the floor and disposing of them, lest Damon find them and spend the rest of the night scolding her. No, she had come to like the stronger women, who fought with their calloused hands right up to their final breath. The new decade had brought plenty of these sorts of women into her grasp. They came in all colors and shapes, some of them still carrying the faint scent of their once-expensive perfumes on their skin. Elena loved the feeling of biting into their strong necks, their firm muscles squirming beneath her.

She had her current prey in a corner, her hand around the woman's neck while she thrashed at Elena with her thick arms. Elena smiled, a familiar rush of adrenaline pumping through her veins. "Are you afraid?" she grunted.

The woman whimpered under Elena's firm grasp, her rough hands scratching at Elena's face. "Please," she begged.

"Answer me!" she barked.

"Yes! Yes! I'm frightened! Please, let me go!"

Elena fought her way to the woman's neck, her fangs barred as she dodged the woman's swinging fists. The woman squeaked out another muffled plea, but Elena had wrapped herself so tightly around her neck that she could hear her blood vessels popping under her hand.

Elena pulled back as the woman's breathing grew heavy. Her dirty toes had begun to curl and she knew it was time to finish her off.

"Please," she whispered, in a final attempt to save herself. Heavy tears fell down her face and onto the front of her dress.

Elena wiped a tear away with her thumb. "Don't worry, dear, it'll be over soon."

"My children," the woman gasped as Elena's fangs reentered the wound in her neck.

Elena stiffened and pulled back, wiping blood from her face. "What did you say?"

The woman's eyes were unfocused and struggling to stay open. "My children," she breathed. "They won't have anyone to take care of them."

* * *

Elena stumbled, inebriated by the fresh blood in her system, up the stairs in search of Damon. She needed to confide in him what she had just seen, for it had been many years since anything had shaken her so.

She had last seen him in the kitchen of the inn they were staying at. She thought she had found the perfect woman to sup on right away. She was from Oklahoma, seeking work after her father's farm went under. She had no friends and, Elena incorrectly assumed, no family. Damon had stuck around, looking for someone to his liking. He never came back to their room, but he had to be lurking about somewhere. Elena turned the corner, wondering whether she might find him still in the kitchen. _No_, she thought. He would have fed by now and he never would have done it in the there.

A lamp fell to the floor, rousing her from her thoughts. It was she who had knocked it over. She clumsily picked it up and placed it back in its corner, leaving the shade crooked. She could hear all of the muffled voices around her, blending into one another. "Where did I leave my other shoe?" a man said. "Five for the whole night," a woman said elsewhere. She leaned against the wall next to her, closing her eyes and begging her head to stop spinning. "Listen," she whispered aloud to herself. "Listen for his voice."

She tried with all of her might to focus, to stop picturing the woman's tears as they poured from her eyes. A child cried from somewhere below her and she felt her stomach heave. "Damon," she whimpered, hoping he would hear her. She had no idea why she felt this way, like she had overeaten.

She started up the next set of stairs, steadying herself upon the railing. A laugh came from above her, and though it wasn't one she heard often, it was one that she could recognize anywhere. She followed its sound, up the stairs and through the narrow hallway. There were only two doors to go through, and she rammed through the one closest to her.

The sight that greeted her was not as much shocking as it was confusing. She hadn't realized that she had been crying, or that it was even possible for her to cry, until the vision of Damon's wide, startled eyes swam before hers. She gripped the chair at her side, narrowing her eyes. She focused first on Damon, whose head was not upright but sideways, resting upon the olive skin of a stranger's crossed legs. Her eyes had great difficulty working their way up to the stranger's face, and for a moment she thought she could feel fear blossoming in the pit of her stomach.

First, she saw the dark brown hair that had fallen lazily from the pins that once held it in place. A hand had burrowed itself in the stranger's neck, wielding a small handkerchief to what smelled like a wound to Elena. Her stomach churned at the scent. Then there was the blissful face of a girl, no more than nineteen years old, who smiled warmly up at Elena like she was an old friend. Her hand combed through Damon's hair. Even as he slowly sat up to face Elena, the girl's hand followed right along with him.

He eyed Elena cautiously, ready to move at any moment, but she swayed where she stood and her skin looked a sickly green color. "Elena," he said, "are you alright?"

She stood silent for a moment, never taking her eyes off of the small hand that moved up and down his head. She wanted to rip it off, but felt she might vomit before she took her first step. "I-" she began, but she had forgotten why she had come to find him in the first place. "I think I ate too much."

Damon stood, straightening the collar of his shirt and casually placing himself in between Elena and the girl. "Do you need to sit?" he asked.

She bit the inside of her cheek, for she did not know what she needed. He took her silence as a yes and lowered her slowly onto a nearby chair.

"Who's your friend, Damon?" the girl asked from behind him.

Bile arose in Elena's throat. Damon's nervous eyes glanced behind him, but he didn't answer. He kneeled beside Elena instead, brushing the stray hair from in front of her eyes.

"My name is Rayna," the girl continued.

Elena glared up at her. She was so young, so beautiful, so full of life. The smell of blood was still strong in Elena's nose, but it smelled old, making Elena feel even sicker. She eyed the towel in Rayna's hand. "Can I borrow that?" she said suddenly.

"This is embarrassing," Rayna giggled, "but I'm afraid this one is dirty. Would you like me to find a clean one for you?"

"Yes," Damon agreed. "We can get you a fresh towel and some ice chips if you like."

"No," Elena frowned, "I want that one."

Rayna frowned a little, though more out of embarrassment than anything, but relinquished the dirty cloth nonetheless.

Elena tossed it to the side without giving it a second glance, her eyes narrowing once again on the girl's neck. Not a mark remained apart from a red stain on her skin. "You fed her," Elena said, not looking Damon for confirmation. He had always been so vehemently against sharing their blood with humans. It was too dangerous if something were to happen to them, he said. Sometimes they made special exceptions, but never for Damon.

"Oh, he's very talented," Rayna smiled. "Never spills a drop, and once he's done he always makes sure I'm nice and healed."

"Always?" Elena asked. Damon had averted his wide eyes to look at his shoes, which suddenly seemed interesting to him.

"For as long as we've been seeing each other."

Elena had to stop and think how long they had been staying at the inn, but she couldn't even remember the name of the town they were in. "How long is that?"

Rayna looked to Damon as though he could offer any insight, but he never looked up. "A month, almost."

"A month?"

"A little less, maybe."

Elena leaned back in her seat, begging her brain to stop spinning around in her skull just long enough for her to collect herself. "Th-that's so good of him to take care of you like that."

"He's a real cherub, I'll tell you that, and funny too! I've never met someone so funny in my whole life!"

Elena turned to Damon, her eyes like two branding irons, burning the words _run for your life_ upon his forehead. "That's so strange that you say that, Rayna. I've always thought he was a bit of a scrub."

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "What? You mean this Damon? Oh, there's no possible way you could mean that _my_ Damon is a scrub."

Elena's jaw clamped down on her tongue so hard that she though she might bite it off. She closed her eyes, blocking every sound from her brain. Now she understood why she had heard Damon laughing. They were just talking, enjoying each other's company. She held the picture of his head in her lap in her mind's eye for a few more moments before she emptied the contents of her stomach at their feet.

* * *

There was dust everywhere. It tangled Elena's hair and she could feel it grit between her teeth. There wasn't a living thing for miles in every direction, and the veins in her face were blue and twitching beneath her skin. Every so often, she caught a glimpse of Damon's pale face grimacing from beneath a mask of dirt. He looked inhuman, like a monster.

She felt more human than she had in a very long time. How long had they been walking? Three days? Three weeks? Her lungs felt heavy and desperate as they struggled to inhale and exhale through the dirt that coated them like a thick wool. She couldn't hear if Damon was struggling as much as her, for the wind seemed to be blowing directly into her both of her ears. However, she had noticed that his pace had slowed greatly over the last hour.

Elena had killed Rayna, of course. It was not a total shock to Damon, admittedly, but a disappointment nonetheless. The problem was that Rayna was not just some tramp, wandering from town to town with no one to care. Her father owned the inn that they were staying at. So, as any irrational, angry, and drunken vampire would do, Elena killed him too. Then she burned his place to the ground.

They thought they could simply run until they reached civilization, like they always did, but the towns here were few and far in between and the sun, which she swore was closer to the Earth than ever before, quickly wore them down. Occasionally, a dust cloud would blow over them, coating them in another layer of brown, and bringing reprieve from the unrelenting heat. Their skin was beginning to dry out, the palms of their hands turning blue and numb as if they were slowly desiccating. Their rings had grown white-hot and both had grown increasingly fearful that they would stop working at any moment.

"How much longer?" she pleaded.

"Just keep walking," he growled.

Instead of finding something to say, she lowered her head against the wind, digging the heals of her boots into the dirt beneath her and flexing the muscles of her legs as they began to trek uphill.

"You really are somethin'," he breathed, "you know that?" He turned to hear her response, but she didn't looked up at him. "Why do you do this? Hm?"

She wiped the dirt from her brow and her hand dropped limply at her side, but she still said nothing.

"Elena!" he shouted. "Are you listening? Do you ever listen? What goes on in that head of yours? Do you only think of ways to torture me?"

"Of course not, _darling_," she muttered with false sweetness.

"How long has it been, then, since we have been able to settle for more than six months? Can you remember?"

"Not since Chicago."

"Do you remember why we had to leave Chicago, Elena?"

"Of course I remember."

"You killed someone in plain sight."

"Only because you told me that I couldn't!"

"You're so-" and he paused, weighing the worth of his words.

"So what, Damon?"

"Stupid! That's what you are!"

"No, I just don't care."

"That's right you don't!"

"Don't start."

He stopped walking altogether, forcing Elena to do the same. She finally looked up from the ground, the veins pulsating in her face. His teeth were gritted and his diamond eyes raked against the brittle glass of her skin. "Why couldn't you just let her go?"

The sound of Rayna's screams echoing over the cackling fire bounced around her brain. She couldn't help but smile. "I was ready to go," she said, sounding very bored. "You're always saying that I should be careful about leaving witnesses."

"You are so full of horse shit."

She turned away from him and began to walk, knowing he would follow. "What happens when we run out of places to run to?" he called after her. "We couldn't stay in Chicago, we couldn't stay in Los Angeles, not New Orleans, or New York. "Because of you, we're stuck in the middle of goddamn nowhere!" He was screaming now, his voice fading away with the wind. "No food, no shelter, nothing!"

Neither of them said anything after that. There was nothing left to say that they hadn't screamed at one another a thousand times.

The barren landscape screamed all around Elena, and she let her eyes swim along the endless miles of dirt. In the horizon, she could see the curve of her waist carved into the peaks of the mountains. The sound of her cries and screams that she was never allowed to shed howled with the angry wind. Her temper and bitterness scorched like the sun. She knelt down to run her fingers through the dirt as Damon walked ahead of her and it was like touching her own skin. She was the depleted earth. Used. Betrayed. Slowly blown away by the wind. She looked to Damon, trudging ahead of her and rage trickled like boiling water down her spine. "I need to feed," she muttered. "Soon."


	34. Happiness

**Chapter Thirty-Four**

**Happiness**

_Memphis, Tennessee_

_1934_

Make no mistake about misery; though she is a demanding beast, she is never strong enough to hold you forever in her persistent grasp. She climbs into her lovers' beds, slithering through the sheets like a snake, but she can only writhe beneath her victim for so long before she grows tired. Just as a sliver of sunlight breaks through a chink in the curtains, her eyes close, and her victim can flee – if only for a moment.

Damon and Elena were often miserable, even though they did not know it, but so was everyone else back then. How could they compel a man's wallet from his pocket if the wallet didn't even exist? They never lived in squalor, per se, but they were a long way away from the big and bustling cites with their lavish hotels and apartments. Damon kept them hidden in the small towns on purpose; it was the only way to keep Elena out of trouble. The finest inns they could find still had cracks running through the ceilings like lightning bolts, and the wallpaper was torn and stained. They blew back East to New Mexico, then to Texas, and further into Tennessee, fleeing from the ever-present dust that hung in the air, thick as smoke.

They'd been settled in the same town for almost a year, something Elena had not done since Chicago. Memphis was large in comparison to anywhere they had lived since Chicago. Damon refused to come there at first, but Elena, whose lust for blood and chaos was insatiable, promised that she would be on her best behavior, no, a Saint's best behavior so long as she did not have to spend one more night stuck in another tiny, insufficient, and boring town. "I'll even go to church," she said, draping her hand over her heart in mock-sincerity.

Though Damon doubted her ability to control herself, he packed their things and they stole away in the night, for he was just as desperate as she was to get away.

She maintained herself well, to his surprise. Memphis, though still too small for her tastes, suited them both well. Damon opened a club there, the fifth of its kind, where the liquor was cheap and the blood was never-ending. His other clubs, even the first in Chicago, had all fallen from his control each time he and Elena had to flee town. He always intended to get them back, but he knew it would take time for Elena to gain control of herself. At least that's what he like to tell himself. Until then, he managed the club, which he named _The Moonstone_, much like he had done in Chicago.

Prohibition was over, but the particular drink of interest in this club – blood – was and always would be illegal, so they set up shop in an old speakeasy below a barber's shop. They needed a sanctuary, somewhere to feed in peace, so Damon and Elena gathered humans willing to sell their blood. The system was reminiscent of his and Elena's time spent at Myrtle's so long ago, though nobody was compelled this time. Now times were desperate and people had to feed their children somehow. The business was so successful that they started providing other vampire-oriented services, like providing fake identification and papers.

Elena took charge of the humans, becoming a sort of Den Mother to them all. It was her job to direct the customer to the correct woman (or less often, man), collect payment, and provide protection. If they were desperate enough, some of the girls would sell other types of services. It was one of those things that nobody ever talked about.

The night was over and the dance floor was clear except for empty bottles. Elena swayed in between tables, humming the chorus to _You've Got That Thing _by Ted Lewis. It had been a long night; her and Damon had fought over something stupid. She couldn't even remember how it started, but like all of their other fights, it raged out of control. She'd slapped him across the face, he pushed her to the floor, she smashed a vase over his head, and so on. They had "made up" just as quickly, however, barricading themselves in Elena's office. "I thought they were moving furniture at first," one bartender exclaimed to the other. "If I had known what they were doing, I wouldn't have just barged in!"

"Well, if my wife and I fought half as often and half as hard as they did," the other muttered, "we would probably have to fuck all the time too."

"I can hear you," Elena called from around the corner. Neither spoke again until she was gone.

She trudged up the stairs and through the door to the storeroom of the barber shop. From the main room, she could see Damon sitting on the bench outside, smoking a cigarette. She appraised him for a moment, his jaded eyes stained orange by the rising sun. He had cut his hair the shortest it had ever been, always slicked back with the expensive tonics. He'd grown out a sleek mustache that he liked to twist through his fingers when he was stressed. Elena hated it, which made him like it all the more.

She silently joined him, tucking her cold hands into the crook of his arm. "That vase you smashed was an antique," he sighed, blowing smoke from his lungs along with his words.

"As was the painting you tore in half."

He smirked a little, nodding his head. "It was an ugly painting."

"It was an ugly vase," she retorted.

They laughed and she rested her head on his shoulder, ignoring the freezing cold that permeated the stockings beneath her dress. "I fired Gail tonight," she said after a moment of silence.

"Really?" Damon asked. "She was one of your best girls."

"She's pregnant," Elena said stiffly.

He sat back, a little nervous. _No wonder she was in such a foul mood earlier_, he thought. He couldn't understand why, but the thought of children always put her on edge.

"She doesn't know yet," Elena continued. "I didn't want to tell her."

"That's alright."

There was another pause and for a moment Damon feared that she would start in on him again, but she simply took the cigarette from between his fingers and slipped it in between her lips. The city had already begun to stir, busses and milk trucks going past them. They sat like that until the sun had risen past dawn and all the staff had gone home. Even the barber, Tom, arrived while they were there, offering them a short greeting.

"I'm sorry," she said after a while, looking up at him. "You know how I get."

He kissed her on the cheek, "I'm sorry too."

And so, even though they were so often miserable, sometimes the sun would rise, and just for a moment, they were at peace with one another.

* * *

_1936_

The day had been abysmally hot, surpassing even the hottest day of the previous summer. No one that could help it was caught out on the street for long periods of time. Parents kept their children inside, and those who could help it stayed home from work. Just outside of Damon and Elena's apartment, a young woman collapsed from exhaustion and was brought inside to cool down.

Even so, Elena sat in front of her large vanity, drawing in her eyebrows and painting her lips pink. She scowled, annoyed with her reflection. Girls these days just looked so silly, she thought, with their red lips and blue eyelids. It didn't suit her one bit. She still wore her hair short and curly, but never as short as the girls sometimes cut their hair lately. She preferred everything about her to look more understated. It made her feel more mature, as she should; it was her birthday.

"You ready?" Damon said, throwing his jacket to the bed and securing his tie around his neck.

"I'm getting too old for this," she frowned.

He paused, losing hold of his knot and allowing the fabric to fall from his neck. "Don't be silly," he said, coming up behind her in the mirror.

"Why can't we stay in?"

"You only turn ninety years old once," he said. "We're going out."

She stuck out her bottom lip, staring at her reflection once again. "Where?"

"It's a surprise," he said, returning to the task of securing his tie around his neck.

She sighed, grabbing the powder puff from its tray and tapping it to her nose.

"Speaking of," he said, "I need to call and confirm our reservation. Get dressed. I'll be back."

She finished pinning her hair in place before turning her attention to the box upon their bed. It was her first gift of the day: a dress made of silk and covered in champagne-colored sequins. It clung to Elena's waste and legs, easing out just above her knees and reaching all the way to the floor. The back dipped low and was held up by thin straps. She ignored the blooming urge to cover herself with more fabric, instead pairing it with a crème-colored fur. There was no doubt that it cost a small fortune, but like Damon said, you only turn ninety-years-old once in a lifetime.

She stepped in front of the mirror, holding different earrings in front of her lobes, throwing each back into her jewelry box with an annoyed sigh. Damon stopped dead in his tracks when he returned, his golden cufflinks only half secured. She turned to face him, a self-conscious hand over her belly. "What's the matter with you?" she said, a sheepish frown covering her face.

He blinked, looking for words. "You look beautiful," he said, his eyes wide. He inhaled as though to say something else, but instead rushed forward, taking her into his arms. He brought his hands up around her face and brought it to his, kissing her softly. She raised her eyebrows, surprised by the sudden gesture.

Three words still hung in between them, unspoken and covered in the dust of dormancy. She blinked, breaking away from his never-ending gaze and stepping out of his grasp. "When are we leaving?"

* * *

He took her to _The Balthaza_r, the nicest restaurant in town. The main dining room was dimly lit, allowing the moonlight to wash through the big arched windows around the room. They sat in the corner farthest from everyone, hand in hand and thigh to thigh.

Elena was only slightly disappointed when they ordered steak and lobster, for she wanted "real food." However, Damon surprised her, for once the plates of their entrées had been cleared, dessert came. Elena's veins were alive and buzzing with champagne as a young woman made her way to de table. Beautiful and sheathed in a red chiffon dress, she positioned herself comfortably in between the two and said nothing. Damon smiled at Elena from behind the girl, the veins in his eyes turning red. "This is two gifts in one," he said.

"Oh?"

He gazed down at the woman's necklace, a tight string of pearls, secured in the back by red ribbon. Elena reached out to touch them, running her hands over the smooth surface, made warm by the woman's neck. She too felt the veins under her eyes grow tight as her fangs slid from her gums. Damon pulled the ribbon apart, freeing the woman's neck to Elena's vice grip. She only stayed for a moment, demonstrating uncharacteristic composure and looking for Damon to join her. She kissed him gently, leaving the taste of blood on his lips before returning to the girl's neck, where he joined her.

They returned to their apartment drunk and lively. The doorman nodded disapprovingly as they stumbled up the steps and into the elevator. Elena dropped her purse immediately upon entering their front door. "It was a lovely day," she hiccupped. "It really was."

He nodded, losing his jacket somewhere along the way to the bedroom. He turned back, as though to search for it, but ultimately decided against it. He paused outside the door, watching as Elena admired herself in the mirror, pulling pins from her messy hair, when he suddenly heard a barking.

He froze, staring at the closed door at the end of the hall.

He had almost forgotten, he realized. "Don't be mad," he blurted to Elena, trailing toward the door.

Her eyes widened, watching as he crept out of sight. "What did you do?"

It was silent for a moment when a small ball of black fur tore across the carpet and toward her feet. Taken by surprise, she flew backwards and into the wall behind her, ready to attack. Damon laughed at her, and the fur ball barked from below. "What in the hell is that?"

"It's a puppy," he grinned.

Her eyes widened and she knelt down to the floor. Finally, a face peaked up at her from beneath the fur, its wide eyes looking expectantly up at her. She dropped the fur from her shoulders and held out her arms, the Pomeranian gratefully jumping into her hands. She gasped delightedly, desperately suppressing the urge to crush the poor thing. It licked her neck and face, barking and whining. "I always wanted a puppy! What is its name?"

He shrugged coming to sit on the floor beside them. "I've been calling him Sir Poops-A-Lot."

She laughed, burying her face into the mass of fur. "I don't like that."

"What about 'Runt'?"

She raised the dog to look her in the face, staring deep into its eyes as though it could somehow tell her what its names was.

"Or peewee," Damon joked.

"Goliath," she said, "that's what I'll name him."

Damon laughed again, "You're kidding"

She kissed Goliath's face again, ignoring the urge to kiss it a thousand more times. "You can be David," she said to Damon.

He rolled his eyes reaching out to pet the dog once more. She leaned into him, laying a soft kiss on his cheek. "Thank you, Damon."

He took her hand into his, lacing their fingers together in her lap. "Happy Birthday, Elena."

* * *

_1939_

Though it was after midnight, the night was still young at _The Moonstone_. Elena sat perched in the corner, bouncing her foot to the sound of music sinking through the ceiling above her. Her favorite song was on.

She soon noticed a trail of footsteps coming nearer and then trailing down the hallway, landing in front of the door that sat a few feet across from her. A fist struck the cheap green wood of the door. "Come in," she called.

The door swung open and she was met by the face of a stranger, which was unusual; new customers couldn't just happen upon the club, they had to be invited. "Mrs. Salvatore?" the stranger asked.

The name brought an apparition of a grin to her lips. "No," she said distractedly, "you can call me Elena."

She shook the thought from her mind and appraised her visitor. He was tall, even from where she was sitting, she could tell he was at least a head taller than her. There was something a little devious about him, but that was the look of everyone around her these days. "My name is Dr. Matthew Honeycutt. Call me Matthew."

Elena raised a skeptical eyebrow, looking him up and down. "You are a doctor?"

"Once," he smiled sadly. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "My stomachs not as strong as it once was, I suppose."

She nodded in understanding, gesturing to the chair across from her desk. "Sit. I'll pour you a drink."

He removed his hat, setting it on the arm of the chair as he sat back. Even with her back turned, she could feel his eyes sweep across her silhouette as she poured whiskey from its crystal decanter. She took a glass for herself and handed the other to him before taking her place behind her desk. "What can I do for you?" she asked.

He smirked, shaking the ice around his glass. "I came by recommendation."

"Oh?

"A friend of yours sent me. A woman named Caroline."

"Caroline?" Elena smiled. "You know her?"

"Very well. I just left her behind in Prague. She sent me ahead to scout out apartments, and told me about an old friend with a very special business here."

"And here you are."

"Here I am."

"So am I to expect her soon?"

"She'll be here within the month."

"Excellent! How can I help you until then, Matthew?"

"Your mate said you have excellent fare, even for a man as fastidious as myself."

"Of course," she said, "I think our girls will suit you just fine. We even have a few men, if you prefer."

He shook his head, "I prefer women, not too young, not too old. A blonde. They'll be clean, I assume? Healthy?"

"Of course."

"I also must demand that she doesn't have any bites."

"Come with me," she said, deserting her glass of melting ice. Aside from the door Matthew came from, there was only one more in the room. She led him down the narrow stairway and through a dim hallway. He twirled his hat nervously around his hands. "It's quiet down here."

"I burn everlasting bundles of white sage and witch hazel in each of the girl's rooms. For privacy."

He nodded, but said nothing more. They stepped through another door and into a well-lit sitting area. Finally, he could hear the sound as a cloud of light smoke encircled his body. Girls sat around the room, some reading and others playing games. None of them seemed to notice or care about Elena or her guest. She didn't pay them any mind either.

The room was draped in bright golds and oranges. In the corner, a young man sat almost as though he was sleeping with an older woman draped over his neck. A giggle rang out from somewhere behind him. Matthew shifted uncomfortably, unsure as to who was a vampire and who a human.

Elena didn't turn back. Instead, she led him through another door and down a set of stairs. They walked down a long hallway lined with doors, all with a big golden number nailed to their faces. They moved closer to the wall to allow passage of a man and woman. The woman led the way with her hand, a sad smile on her face. Her skin was sickly and her hair was thin. The skin of her arms and neck was covered in crescent shaped scars. The man behind her, though healthier looking, wore thin and blackened clothing. He looked from the back of the girl's head to Elena smugly, raising a hand in greeting.

"Goodnight, Trevor," Elena smiled.

"'Night, ma'am."

"Oh, and Alice," she said, forcing the girl to stop. "Come see me in the office when you're available." Elena took another moment to evaluate the girl's arms before carrying on as before.

Finally, they came to a stop outside of the room labeled '37'. She knocked lightly, and Matthew quickly took off his hat, nervously brushing his hair to the side.

"You've never done anything like this before?" Elena smirked.

"I'm afraid not."

"Don't be nervous," she said, and though he did not hear the footsteps approach, the door opened anyway. The woman's dark blue eyes never met his, but seemed to look anywhere but, settling nervously on Elena instead. Though she was smiling, there was still a little bit of a pout in her lips. He couldn't bring himself to look away from her.

"Rebekah," Elena said, "I wanted to introduce you to Dr. Matthew Honeycutt."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," he said, offering a hand.

"Likewise," she said, only staring at the tips of his fingers but never extending the gesture herself.

"Rebekah is our newest resident," Elena explained. "How long have you been here again?"

"Just three days," she replied.

"You are sure she's unsoiled?" Matthew said awkwardly.

Elena suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. "Rebekah, dear, would you like to speak to Mr. Honeycutt-"

"Matthew."

"Matthew," she corrected, "you could sit and talk for a while."

Rebekah nodded, standing back to offer passage into her plain room, still never looking him in the eye.

"She'll escort you back when you're done, Matthew. We'll talk then."

He nodded his approval and Rebekah shut the door quietly, shooting Elena a nervous look before disappearing behind it.

"Leaving them in the room unsupervised," a high voice ticked from behind her. "Before he's even paid, no less."

Elena turned to its source, an eyebrow raised. "That is none of _your _concern, Pearl."

Pearl had just emerged from room 34, her coat in her hands. She was handsome, with straight black hair and hand a pointed jaw, yet she was small, barely four feet tall, and had a face no older than nine years. Still, Elena knew her to be older than any vampire she had ever known. Nobody dared turned a child anymore. It is the greatest sin a vampire could commit.

* * *

Elena was surprised when the Rebekah returned to her not even thirty minutes later, Matthew following close behind. He placing a small kiss on Rebekah's hand before she descended the stairs once again. Elena sat up, turning down the volume of her radio and setting her ledgers to the side. "Well," she smiled, "I hope you were satisfied."

He smiled and as he spoke she could smell the blood on his lips. "She is very lovely."

"I knew you would like her, but I must warn you now: the unbitten are very expensive."

He shrugged. "It will be well worth it, whatever the price."

"Very well," Elena smiled. "You should also know that I demand payment up front."

He laughed a little, digging his hand into the jacket of his inner pocket. It emerged with a wad of cash, secured by a gold clip. He put the thick of it directly in front of her. "Consider it my down payment for the month, and I don't want her seeing anyone apart from myself."

"Of course," she said, taking the cash without even glancing at it. She didn't have to look at it to know that it was much more than she would have asked for.

* * *

Dawn was fast approaching, and just as quickly as she had heard the footsteps filtering into the club did Elena hear them filing out. Just as she had dropped the last of that night's profits into the safe under her desk, she heard footsteps tracking up the stairs from the dormitories. She turned just as Alice entered the room, sleepily tugging her coat over her shoulders. "Good morning," she said quietly.

"How was your night?" Elena asked.

"A little slow," Alice said glumly.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Alice took a seat across from Elena's desk, sinking into the dark leather with a sigh. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, have you considered my offer?"

Alice rubbed her hand lightly over the raw skin of her arm, biting her lip.

"You know I can't allow you to service our customers looking like that."

Tears formed in the corners of April's dark eyes.

"You should take some time off," Elena sighed. "Let yourself heal, get some sun, and come back when you're ready."

"I can't afford to wait that long," April began to sob. "My husband broke his hand and lost his job at the mill. I can't get another job looking like this."

"Does he know you make money this way?"

She nodded. "It was his idea."

Elena bit the inside of her cheek, annoyed. "What about what I suggested the other day?"

"I can't afford your blood."

Just weeks ago, Alice's condition had grown so severe that customer's refused to pay her normal rate; Elena was forced to lower it. Though not an unheard of occurrence, it was not typically common. Most girls paid a small fee in exchange for a vile of Elena's blood rather than suffer the long-term deduction of pay due to an overabundance of bites. However, there was, every now and again, a girl who could not afford the fee. These girls were called 'Scraps' and they were so cheap that even Elena could not bring herself to take a cut of their earnings as she did to the other girls. Alice, however, was a particularly gruesome case; the lowest earning person in the entire operation.

"My son," she wept. "He's very ill."

Elena stiffened, her sharp nails digging into the wood of her desk. "You never mentioned a son."

"You never asked."

Her jaw set in a hard line and she could feel the pity begin to spill through the dam in her chest. Instead of shoving the emotion back down, she allowed it to wash through her. It wasn't normal, and she didn't like the feeling.

_Just this once_, she thought to herself.

"How old is he?"

"Not yet two."

"You aren't nursing him in this condition, are you?"

"Of course not," Alice sniffed. "His doctor warned against it when he first noticed my arms."

Elena glanced down; even the girl's fingers were covered in small bites.

Her mind made up, Elena reached into the drawer at her side. She let out a small sigh and brought out a small glass vile, setting it on the desk in between them. "Take it," she ordered.

Alice's wet eyes glanced from her to the bottle and back, her hands clasped tightly around one another. "I can't-"

"Take it," Elena repeated, "and this." She offered her hand to Alice, placing a folded ten dollar bill her in her palm. Alice's eyes began to water again, but Elena held up her hand, silencing her. "I don't want to see you here for the rest of the week." Alice's hand shakily wrapped around the bottle, curiously investigating its contents. "And you'll have to drink that now. I can't let you run off with it."

"Are you sure?"

Elena leaned back, her lips pursed.

Without another word, Alice uncapped the small bottle and tipped the contents into her mouth. Her face fell into itself, revulsion filling the lines under her eyes. For a moment, Elena feared she would vomit on the new rug. She offered her glass of whiskey for Alice to wash everything down, which she gladly accepted.

"What was that?" she gasped.

Elena was watching as the skin of her neck slowly lost its angry red color, fading to ivory white. Her hair was slowly growing darker and her lips turned a soft pink. The dark skin under her eyes slowly faded away along with her frown. "What was that?" she asked again, a wide smile on her face.

Just as Elena opened her mouth to speak, the door behind them opened and Rebekah appeared from its depths. Elena snatched the bottle from the desk and replaced it in its drawer. Alice shoved the money into her pocket.

"You wanted to see me, ma'am?"

"Yes, Rebekah, come in." Elena stood to walk Alice out, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I'll see you in a week," she said firmly.

Alice turned on her unexpectedly, wrapping her arms tightly around Elena's neck and muttering a quiet 'thank you' into her shoulder. She had gone before Elena even had a chance to respond.

Flustered, Elena returned to her desk, gesturing for Rebekah to sit down. "How did you like Matthew?"

Rebekah smiled, "He was very polite."

"Good, and were you comfortable?"

"Yes, ma'am," she said, though she didn't look as though she understood the question.

"Matthew has requested that he remain your _only_ client. What do you think of that?"

Rebekah shifted uncomfortably, too scared to say no. "If that is what you think I should do…"

"Be honest."

"I… was hoping to be more like Sarah."

Sarah was one of the prettiest girls in Elena's employ, and thus one of the most popular. She had a regular meeting with Elena every two weeks to heal herself with Elena's blood. Though she was very obviously wealthy, she was also the most heavily guarded, as she posed the greatest threat of turning; she spent more time with vampire blood in her system than without.

Elena reached into the same drawer she had pulled her vile of blood from, retrieving the money that Matthew had given her earlier and holding it so Rebekah could see. "This is the down payment," she said.

Rebekah eyed the cash hungrily. Even after Elena deducted her fees from the stack, she imagined there would still be enough to buy herself anything she wanted. Her family was once the most affluent in New Orleans, but her father had lost every penny in the Panic of 1929. She practically drooled at the thought of having that much money in her hand. "I won't see anyone else," was all she could think to say.

Elena nodded, replacing the money in the drawer and thus extinguishing the fire in Rebekah's eyes. "I need you to understand that this is a very rare opportunity, Rebekah."

"Yes, I understand."

"No one here has ever had an exclusive patron. You must treat the situation carefully."

"What do you mean?"

"Under no circumstance should you allow yourself to be lured by another and allow them to feed on you. No matter how much money they offer you. Even if you think Matthew won't know. He will."

Rebekah nodded nervously. "I understand," she said again.

"You still have the bracelet I gave you?"

Rebekah lifted her arm robotically, revealing the small silver bracelet on her wrist. A small, triangular charm was all that was attached to it, and even from her seat Elena could see the small bud of vervain that had been cast within the silver upon the bracelet's creation. "Never take it off," she instructed, though Rebekah didn't have a choice. All of the girls were compelled to never take off their bracelets unless Elena asked them to.

Elena nodded and stood, signaling the end of their meeting. "Come to me if you ever need anything. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am.


	35. Valentine

**Chapter Thirty-Five**

**Valentine**

_Memphis, Tennessee_

_1939_

"Take the roses downstairs. I want each of the girls to have a few to hand out."

Elena smiled, allowing safe passage to the delivery boy into the lower confines of _The Moonstone_. He smiled blandly back at her, the compulsion obvious in his eyes. He would not remember a thing.

Just as the door closed behind him, the other opened, Damon striding into the office with a secretive smile on his face. Elena stood to greet him, leaning across her desk to kiss him on the cheek before he sat across from her. "Happy Valentine's Day," he greeted.

She grimaced, a little annoyed. "The cost of roses went up this year," she said, marking something down in her ledger.

He shrugged. "It's nothing we can't handle."

"I don't know why you insist on handing them out."

"We mark it with the scent of human blood and place a barrel of roses outside of Tom's shop. No vampire would be able to resist."

She rolled her eyes. "It doesn't bring in as many clients as you think."

He leaned forward in his seat. "Is something else bothering you?"

For a moment, she thought not to say anything. She looked up through her eyelashes at Damon, his earnest face compelling the words from her mouth. "Dr. Honeycutt is-"

"Demanding, vain, condescending…"

Her mouth set in a stern line. "Yes."

"Have you ever met a vampire who was not any of those things?"

She laughed a little. "I suppose not."

"He brings a lot of money in," he reasoned.

"I know, and he's Caroline's… friend, I suppose."

"So what is so horrible about him?"

"He's asked Rebekah to come live with him for the time being."

"Not unheard of. You are against it?"

She gritted her teeth in irritation. "I cannot deny him. I've made it clear to the girls that they are free to go as they please, but… Caroline. What if she is angry with me for allowing it?"

"Then she will be angry."

"Very helpful," she said, her lower lip protruding glumly.

"Don't worry yourself," he stood to pour them both a drink. "You've told me of Caroline's mate, her true mate. Surely Matthew was only meant to be a pet of some sort. He's barely a year old. I doubt she will be truly upset."

"I suppose," she said, taking the glass from his hand.

"Let us forget about it. If Caroline is angry, then she can take it up with Matthew."

Elena nodded, rubbing her thumb across the cool condensation on the glass.

"I have a gift for you," Damon said, hoping to bring her out of this mood.

"Oh?"

"But I won't give it to you just yet."

"Oh."

Damon chuckled, finishing his drink and rising to his feet. "You are going to love it."

* * *

_Your present is awaiting you at home. _

_I will meet you there._

_Happy Valentine's Day,_

_D._

Elena looked up from the small, almost unreadable curve of Damon's handwriting, a suspicious scowl on her face. "Damon gave you this?"

The man who delivered it played his trumpet every Saturday at the club, yet she still could not recall his name. "Yes, ma'am."

She read the letter once more before giving him a dismissive nod. Without another word, he left and she was left alone in her office. She slipped her arms into her plush red coat; Damon's gift last Valentine's Day. If one looked hard enough, they might notice the small stain of blood on the lapel, though she couldn't remember how it had gotten there. Probably from a fight with Damon, she assumed. Happy with the night's profits, she shook the thought from her head and slipped on her leather gloves. She hated to admit that she was truly anxious to get home and see what he could have possibly gotten her.

She took the car home, feeling unusually lonely without Damon in the seat beside her. Where could he have gone? It was early in the morning and the sun had barely broken the horizon.

"Thank you," she said quietly as she stepped out of the car, not looking back at the driver. Their apartment building loomed ominously over her, though it was not particularly tall. She shook the anxiety from her head, annoyed, and stepped forward into the lobby.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary as she approached her front door. She could hear Goliath's tiny heart beating rapidly as she approached, for he could probably hear her coming too. She opened the door and a tiny ball of fur came barreling towards her, yipping and scratching at her legs. "Hello, darling," she cooed, snatching the dog up and closing the door behind her. He quieted once it was comfortably in her arms, and she buried her face in the abundance of its soft coat - always careful not to squeeze to hard.

She appraised the living room, looking for her gift, but found nothing out of the ordinary. Goliath still in hand, she trailed to the bedroom, resigning to ready herself for bed. Flicking on the overhead lamp, she realized something was glowing from their bed. She sat the dog on the floor, moving carefully to see it more clearly.

A thick necklace lay flat across the duvet, not glowing, but shining. There were so many diamonds, she wondered how long it would take to count them all. She reached out to caress the face of the largest one situated in the center of them all, feeling as though she had been entranced by its beauty.

She forced herself to look away for long enough to notice a note that been placed at its side.

_I have one gift left and so do you._

_Wear this, only this, for when I return home._

_D._

She was suddenly very excited, and very pleased with Damon. If she had known he was going to be so generous, she would have gotten him something more than cufflinks, but she was not at all worried that she would not be able to make it up to him. She rushed to the bathroom, her ears alert for any sound of his return.

A shiver of pleasure ran up her spine as she secured the cool metal around her neck. As instructed, she stripped down to nothing, letting her hair fall out of its pins, just brushing her shoulders.

Damon was quiet when he arrived, hoping to catch her off guard, but she was already behind him, guiding him toward their bedroom with her hands over his eyes. "Happy Valentine's Day," she whispered.

He laughed, raising his hands to grasp her wrists and pull them from his face. "You got my gift?"

"Mhm."

He reached behind himself to run his hand along the soft skin of her body before dipping into the pocket of his coat. "I have one more."

She took it from his hands and set it on the table at their side, not even glancing at it. "Later," she insisted, pulling his coat from around his shoulders. As soon as it was off, he turned to face her in a second of incredible speed, pushing her into the door. He looked down to appraise his gift, heavy and beautiful, that hung from her slender neck. "Beautiful," he breathed as he brought his eyes to her face. She took to undoing his tie as he slid his lips down her neck.

"I should have gotten you more," she breathed, unbuttoning his shirt. Damon responded with nothing more than a stifled moan into her neck. "Your gifts were so extravagant."

He came to face her again, his eyes hungry. "I suppose it was worth it," he said.

She brought her lips to his and moved to undo his belt. "What do you want? I'll give you anything."

His eyes looked unsure, always guarded for fear of saying the wrong thing. God forbid he offend her and ruin everything before it even began. "_Anything_," she said again, but before he could respond her lips were on his neck, his chest, and sliding down the ridges of his abdomen. Her hands nimbly worked to finally free him of his belt, the leather cracking in the air when she ripped it from the loops of his pants.

He watched, her devious eyes never leaving his. She pulled his underwear down, but before he had a chance to step out of it, she took him, already growing hard, into her mouth. He sucked in a breath and his head fell backwards as her warm mouth slid deftly over him.

She watched him, pleased that if she asked him right this moment, "Whose gift was better?" he would say, "Yours."

He slipped his hands into her hair appreciatively, pulling her to him and pushing her away. He moaned her name quietly, almost a ghost of a word.

Suddenly, he was pulling her upwards and towards the soft satin sheets of their bed. He turned her to face away from him, grinding his erection in the small of her back. His hands were everywhere; in her hair, turning her face to his, cupping her breasts, running down the sensitive skin of her belly. She realized she had forgotten to breathe, growing dizzy as she lost herself in his embrace.

He pushed her down onto the bed, a small gasp erupting from her throat, and stood over her. The morning sun was streaming in through the windows, casting beams of light upon her sweet, caramel skin. He bent over her, trailing kisses up her spine and into her hair. She smiled, peaking up at him as he stood over her once again. His hand dipped out of her sight as he guided himself into her slowly. They both moaned, the harmony of their voices seeming to echo throughout their empty apartment. Damon pushed himself in and out of her rapidly, forcing his eyes to stay open, on her.

_More_, a voice inside of him screamed.

He pushed her farther up onto the bed, pulling himself up behind her so that he could lay over her, molding his body to hers. His hand wrapped around her neck, pulling her head up into the crook of his shoulder. He bit the skin her neck, though not hard enough to draw blood. Bumps rose to the surface of her skin and she gritted her teeth.

Balancing their weight on his elbow, his free hand slithered underneath her body and in between her legs. He pulled her closer, deeper, his hands moving in slow, deliberate circles around her clit. She closed her eyes as warmth spread throughout her belly. It dispersed slowly, like molasses, down between her legs. All she could feel was Damon, all she could hear was Damon. The sound of his breath on her neck, the smell of his cologne strong in her nose. She stiffened, prolonging the inevitable so that she may stay like this forever. _Wait_, she heard the voice in her head plead. _Not yet_.

It was too late. She sucked in a breath and everything seemed to come to a halt. Her body froze like stone in Damon's grasp and she clenched around him. Her release was accompanied by a guttural moan, every muscle in her body thrumming in rhythm with her pulse. She cried out as Damon continued to push deeper inside of her, his hands drawing a hard circle between her legs. He pulled her mouth to his as she exhaled, he wanted to devour her moans.

All he had to do was wait; allow the shockwaves of her body to push him over the edge along with her, until he was falling, collapsing, his arms wrapping so tightly around her that she might break.

They lay together in the same position for a moment, their breath desperately moving in and out of their lungs. Damon rolled off of her, so as not to suffocate her, leaning back on the pillows with an exhilarated flush in his cheeks. She followed, dropping her head to the pillow beside him and spreading out to cool off. Her necklace hung crookedly upon her collar bone, and he was pleased that she would forever associate it with this memory. "I love Valentine's Day," she laughed.

_I love you_, he thought. It was automatic, so quick that he almost said it out loud, but did he? He considered love for a moment. They never said it. More often they were screaming, "I hate you!" He looked over to her, the sentiment on his mind, and wondered if she would return the feeling. Rather than follow his instinct, he buried the words in his throat, deciding it was better if he didn't think of them at all.

"That necklace looks lovely on you," he said finally.

"What was my other present?" she asked, nodding to the box that still sat across the room on the table.

"Earrings. Custom made," he added. "They weren't ready yesterday, so I compelled the jeweler to work all night."

"That's where you went."

"Poor guy looked like he would crack into pieces if I came too close. I'm surprised he even finished."

Damon closed his eyes, as though suddenly very tired. Elena frowned to herself, frustrated at her earlier paranoia.

"Where's my little Runt?" he said, looking to the floor. Having a dog took some getting used to, especially when Damon and Elena were intimate. He'd been so excited he hadn't even noticed Goliath's absence.

"I locked him in the guest room," she laughed, "to make you more comfortable."

He frowned. "I almost missed the little guy licking my toes."

* * *

Elena and Damon were uncharacteristically nice to every everyone at the club the next day, so everyone automatically assumed that they had a very good Valentine's Day. Elena even spent some time up at the bar with Damon, watching the band play, which she never did.

She hummed quietly to herself as she returned to her office, but stopped abruptly when she caught the sound of someone's heart beating in her office. Her eyes narrowed and moved as quietly as possible to see if she could catch a peak at whoever was snooping through her things. Through the crack in the door, however, she only saw her guest's perfect blonde hair, waiting in the seat from across from her desk.

"Rebekah," she said upon entering. "How can I help you?"

Rebekah turned with eyes wide, not returning Elena's greeting. "Matthew told me he spoke to you yesterday."

Elena nodded, setting her face in stone so as not to reveal her resentment.

"I wanted to know what you thought."

"Matthew did not tell you?"

"He only said that you did not turn him down."

Elena resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Well, I can't stop you from leaving."

"But do you think I should?"

"I think you should exercise caution."

Rebekah leaned back in her chair, chewing on her lower lip and crossing her arms. Elena could hear the rate of her heart pick up. Something was making her nervous. "What is it?"

"I think I love him," she blurted, her eyes wide as though she could not believe that the words had escaped from her mouth.

Elena's looked at her for a long moment, wondering whether she should laugh or scream. "He's a vampire, dear. His charms are meant to befuddle you. It makes you an easier target."

"I think he might love me back."

Elena considered it for a moment. For all she knew, Matthew appeared to be a typical vampire with no humanity. He was too cold, too calculated to feel. "What makes you think that?"

"He said so."

Elena did laugh this time, louder than she meant to. Rebekah scowled. "What is so funny?"

"That doesn't seem possible," was all Elena could think to say.

"You haven't seen the way he is with me!"

"He has no humanity," Elena countered, suddenly very determined to win this argument. "He cannot feel love."

Rebekah's eyes filled with tears and she stood to go. "I don't know why I thought you would understand."

Elena let her go, her sunny disposition suddenly setting.

When Matthew came to her the next day, she braced for another argument. Perhaps she would ban him from the club, Caroline be damned. Rebekah could go with him if she wished.

His eyes were guarded, and just when she opened her mouth to really let him have it, Caroline was there behind him.

She stepped through the door, as beautiful as ever, her bright blue eyes almost squinting from the broad smile that wound across her face. She was covered from head to toe in yellow, emphasizing her radiant and cheerful appearance. Elena stood, forgetting altogether that Matthew was there and ran with incredible speed to her friend, wrapping her arms roughly around her.

They laughed as they embraced, and for a moment Elena feared to let go. What if Caroline did not approve of her? What if she mocked her for showing such weakness as to return to Damon? Reluctantly, she released Caroline from her strong grip, reinforcing her smile as she did so.

"I'm glad to see I was missed," Caroline smirked. "You write so little that I was beginning to think you had forgotten me."

It was true. The last time they had seen each other, they had argued. It was 1912 and Elena was desperate to see Jeremy before he died. Caroline was vehemently against it. "Seeing someone you love like that will scar you forever," she had said. Yet Elena could not talk herself out of it, though nervous she was. Jeremy was the last living evidence of her human life, and even though her humanity was gone, she could not sit comfortably and wait for him to die without a final farewell.

Her and Caroline did not exactly split amicably, but neither could harbor true malice towards the other. They had grown very close in the forty-two years they knew each other.

"My humor does not translate into writing," Elena smiled apologetically, "you know that."

She gestured for Caroline to sit down in the chair across from her desk, turning to pour her some whiskey from the decanter across the room. When she turned to hand her the glass, she found only Caroline awaiting her attention; Matthew had disappeared.

Elena turned to ensure that the sage was burning in the corner, for she was not sure she wanted anyone to hear their conversation. "You have a lot to explain, Caroline." Her voice was terse and though her face indicated she was only playing, true suspicion lurked in Elena's belly. Why had she come so abruptly?

Caroline took a microscopic sip of whiskey before politely setting it on the desk in front of her. Elena had forgotten that there was only one drink that ever passed Caroline's lips. "Well, I missed you, obviously."

Elena looked up through her long eyelashes doubtfully, a knowing smile on her lips. Emotions or no, Caroline was never a good liar. "Please don't flatter me. You hadn't written in months and I suddenly find myself in the acquaintance of Dr. Honeycutt, claiming that my dear old friend is returning to me. No letter. No warning."

Caroline giggled, her hand covering her mouth. "I wanted to surprise you!"

Elena finally took a seat in the large chair behind her desk, leaning back to appraise her guest. "How's Klaus?" she asked.

Caroline's lips pulled into a hard line; Elena had asked just the right question. "Hopefully dead," she replied nonchalantly. "Smeared across some smelly sewer wall, where he belongs."

Elena raised an eyebrow. Caroline was never one to care about anything… unless it was warm, red, and oozing out of the shaking and fearful body of her victim.

Caroline bit her lip, not because she was conflicted, but she suddenly felt the whole story crashing against the floodgate of her throat, begging to be told. "He found another," she said simply.

"Another what?"

Caroline rolled her eyes, irritated that Elena would stoop to make her say it out loud. "Her name is Camille. She's French, blonde, and human." Here eyes darkened at the last word as Elena's opened wide in surprise.

"_Human_?" Elena said incredulously.

"Human."

"A phase," Elena deducted. "Surely, it will pass."

Caroline shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I've moved on."

Doubtful, Elena eyed Caroline wearily, wondering if her emotions had returned. Though she smiled serenely, there was a fire, no, just an ember alight in Caroline's eyes as though she were simply waiting to set a flame.

"Matthew is…" Elena's brain rattled for the appropriate word, not wanting to offend Caroline but not wanting to lie either. "Handsome." She didn't like even admitting that.

Caroline nodded, her smile growing. "Those blue eyes were just too enticing to leave behind," she admitted. The thought of another's blue eyes floated through Elena's mind. She blinked, trying to focus. "He's so young; I thought he would like to get out and see the world."

"And so, you decided to make Memphis, Tennessee, of all places, your first stop."

"Memphis, Tennessee is not without its attractions," Caroline said suggestively.

"Such as?"

"I wondered if you wanted to come with me, wherever my journey takes me."

Elena pondered the idea of flitting away with Caroline; taking a bath in the sun-soaked water off the coast of Egypt, long strolls through the streets of Paris, and a misguided venture into the dense forests of South America to hunt the animals there. Her vision was clouded by the presence of Matthew, always standing too close. Would Rebekah go to? Her lips turned downward at the thought.

She did not even stop to think of Damon; he would never even consider leaving Memphis unless to open another club.

Caroline cleared her throat, her eyebrows high on her forehead, indicating that she was still awaiting an answer. Before Elena could answer, the door at the end of the room swung open, surprising them both. That was the downside to burning sage: it kept the outside noise out just as it kept the inside noise in.

Damon gazed at them both, masking his anxiety with a confident smirk. "I just ran in to Matthew," he explained.

Caroline looked him up and down, her eyes hungry. "He is still so pretty," she sighed quietly, almost ruefully. "I wish I could say I'm happy to see you fully clothed."

Damon shoved his last and only memory of Caroline down to the depths of his mind before it could arouse too much embarrassment. "Pleased to me you," he said, offering his hand. Elena watched tensely, fearing one's reaction to the other. Damon paused, considering pouring himself a drink and sitting down, but he thought better on it. "I only came to say hello," he said. "I'm afraid I have to return to the party."

"How awful for you," Caroline smiled.

Elena relaxed only once he was gone, turning back to Caroline and awaiting her appraisal.

"Your humanity has returned," she said casually, making Elena's insides turn to stone.

"What?" Elena could have sworn that the blood in her veins had chilled so severely that it was frozen. She felt unable to move.

"Hadn't you realized?"

Caroline awaited an answer, but Elena only stared back, her face drained of color. "Don't worry," Caroline cooed. "Damon is no different."

Elena struggled to force the words from her mouth. "How could you know?"

"I spent almost half a century with you, Elena. You think I wouldn't notice? You even look different."

Elena wondered at that. She never noticed a change in the mirror, but perhaps it was gradual. Or perhaps she chose to ignore it. She thought again of the last time her and Caroline saw each other. They were angry at each other, yes, but not really angry. In fact, she had not thought of their quarrel at all until Caroline returned.

Her thoughts then turned to Jeremy. The mere sight of him left her feeling irritated and suspicious and more prone to sadness and anger. Had that been the moment when her humanity slowly began to return to her? She shook her head slightly. There was no way that she had gone so long without knowing. As for Damon… it was she, under the pretense of having no humanity, who convinced him to turn his emotions off, to join her. She knew for sure that they both had left the last remnants of their humanity in Mystic Falls, along with the heirlooms of their human lives.

Perhaps their humanity had come to catch up with them over time. Perhaps they had gotten lazy, or too comfortable. The thought made her sick, and panic ballooned inside of her. Along with the panic, Elena suddenly felt everything else; all of her emotions jumping up and down in the recesses of her mind and heart, as though they were on a desert island and trying to catch the attention of a plane passing overhead.

This was going to be a problem.

Caroline sat by patiently, allowing the epiphany to sink in.

"I think you're right," Elena said, her eyes wide.

"Of course I am," Caroline agreed confidently.

"Why?" It seemed once Elena acknowledged the emotions, they were unstoppable. They throbbed inside of her like a pulse. "Why me?"

Caroline sat for a moment, putting on a face as though to consider the question. She had known the answer for a long time. "Damon," was all she said.

"Damon?"

"The 'switch' does not exist in your head, as it does for the rest of us. Damon is your switch, as you are to him, I suppose."

"No," was all Elena could manage to say.

"Think on it: You kill Katherine, and leave Damon behind. The switch is off. You return to Damon, and the switch is on. It's not an unreasonable guess."

Elena reached across the table to snatch Caroline's glass of whiskey from in front of her. She swallowed the contents of the glass so swiftly that she didn't even notice the burn as the contents slithered down her throat.

"All the more reason to come with me," Caroline continued. "Leave this place behind, and you'll be free of your humanity. You won't have to think of him again."

Elena doubted that; even her strongest and most emotionless self still strayed to think of Damon every now and then. Yet she feared what was growing inside of her: the realization, the doom, the guilt. "What about Matthew?" she said, trying to distract Caroline from her point.

"He's taken an interest in one of your humans," Caroline shrugged, unbothered as she tilted her head to the door behind Elena's desk. "I suppose I have a habit of choosing men who want someone like me, but never the real thing." The chagrin on her face disappeared with another shrug. "I was never attached to him anyway. I'll find someone new."

"I don't know if I could leave them," Elena said after a moment, thinking of the girls lurking below her very feet. A warm feeling crept into her chest and she realized it was tenderness. She cared for them.

* * *

The day Caroline left, Elena was still unsure as to whether she would go or not. Damon had watched her carefully, half expecting her to sneak out of the window at any second, never to return. Caroline had stayed much longer than she originally would have liked. Matthew left, as he said he would, with Rebekah in tow. Once he was gone, Caroline quickly tired of Tennessee. Elena guessed it bothered Caroline more than she was willing to admit.

"You're sure you won't come with me?" Caroline asked sadly, the train's loud engine forcing her to shout.

Elena glanced at Damon, who was speaking excitedly about the size of the train in front of him with a complete stranger. His eyes were wide as they stared at the locomotive. "It's the largest I've ever seen!" she heard him say.

Caroline wrapped Elena in a hug, not needing an explanation. "You're allowed to feel for him, you know." Her voice was just a whisper, barely audible over the engines. "You're allowed to feel for yourself. It only begins with forgiveness."

Elena smiled wistfully, wishing Caroline could understand. "I know," was all she said.

"You'll be ready someday."

Elena looked to Damon again, the sight of his smile making her smile. Seeming to feel her eyes, he glanced up to meet them. He grinned at her before turning back to respond to the man's question.

No, she wasn't ready. Not yet.

* * *

_1944_

It had been years since Caroline had left, and yet Elena thought of their conversation every day, each dawn seeming to bring about the sense that Elena needed to move on. She tried with all her might to bury her emotions, stuff them and beat them down as though packing a suitcase. Caroline was right: Damon was her switch, and as long as he was near, Elena was prisoner to her guilt.

She struggled to feed, refused to kill. Every time it happened on accident, she locked herself away in the apartment for days. Damon was often at a loss for what to do with her.

Last night was the worst. She had lost her temper and shoved a young man into the wall. No harm was intended, and yet it was done. She could still smell the blood in her nose, still taste its essence in her mouth though she never fed on him. As she sat at _The Moonstone_'s bar, pondering the nonexistent consequences of her actions, she considered walking up the stairs, out the door, and into the sunset, never to return. Damon would be better off. He had so much potential in his second life. It was she who had dulled it, ruined it by acting selfishly. How many people had she killed just to make him angry? She couldn't even remember.

The dance floor was filled with couples, dancing slowly in front of her. Some of them had their Valentine's Day roses dangling lazily from their hands. A woman she had never seen before stood on the stage, crooning into the microphone. Damon's latest hire, she guessed, and so obviously a witch. Her voice was enchanting, seeming to wrap around Elena with tangible hands and squeeze her ever so slightly. It made her feel warm inside, and strangely, very cold. She was so entranced she had not even noticed that there was a band, playing smooth and slow behind her. As the music faded and the woman's voice momentarily released Elena from its grasp, Elena felt the melancholy retreat from her belly.

The music picked up once more with the sound of piano keys, light and slow. The woman's voice returned, capturing Elena once more.

_"I'll be seeing you_

_In all the old, familiar places."_

She swayed a little in her seat and very suddenly wanted to dance, desperately wishing to have someone wrap her in their grasp. She looked into the crowd, searching for someone to take her hand, and there Damon was, smiling sadly at her from across the way. She met him in the midst of the crowd. He took her by the hand, kissing her on the knuckle, and pulling her firmly into his arms. She sighed, allowing the words to tie them together.

_"I'll be seeing you_

_In every lovely summer's day." _

She felt eighteen again. If she closed her eyes, inhaling the familiar scent of Damon's chest, she could almost place herself back in Mystic Falls. She could see him, his hair long and wavy, with that sort of scared look he got. He looked just the same now, and yet so very different. _Human_, she thought.

Damon wrapped his arm around her waist, bringing her from her dream. "Damon," she murmured.

"Hm?"

"I love you."

He made to pull back from her, to look her in the eyes, but she wrapped around him with her incredible strength, never breaking away from him. After a moment, she realized her eyes were wet, leaving marks on his shirt.

"What?" His eyes were wide, though not out of fear. He knew this was coming, yet he did not know what to say. Should he fight? Tell her no?

Finally, she pulled back just enough to see his face. "I love you," she said again.

The way her eyes pled with him, he knew he could not fight against her. He would have to let her go if he was ever going to get her back. "I love you too," he said. Neither of them had uttered those words in so long, yet they were like fluid coming from mouths; a first language, unforgettable.

"I think I must go," she said quietly.

He nodded. It was all he could do.

She slid her hand across his cheek, resting her thumb on the ridge of his jaw. He grasped at it, basking in its warmth. Had she always been so warm?

"We'll meet again," she said, her eyes wide with promise.

She said that and he believed. He only nodded again, trying to phrase his words perfectly. The last thing he said was of great importance. It was the only piece of himself that he had to give.

Over her shoulder he saw a single rose, deserted, upon the bar. Its petals had faded and shrunk, bending over as though overcome with grief. He looked back to Elena, and as he opened his mouth to say something, she kissed him. It was hard, at first. Desperate, reaching and pulling into him. As it slowed, she moved her hands down the skin of his neck, across his chest and arms, until they found his hands. She wrapped herself there, memorizing what he felt like.

His lips were tender against hers, fleeting, as though he was already fading away from her grasp. He released her, and she ducked her head into his chest for one final moment, swaying to the music and inhaling his scent.

He silently hoped she would change his mind, and when she squeezed him just a little

And then she was gone.

He stood alone in the crowd of people, all blissfully unaware that he'd just lost every ounce of love in his heart. Though he gave it willingly, he felt cheated. Everything was dimmer, somehow. Had everything always looked this way? He appraised his surroundings. His club, once his pride and joy, now looked shabby and malnourished. The music was off-key. The smell of blood and roses was strong in his nose. The song was approaching its end and he shoved his fists into his pocket. There, in its depths, Elena left a letter. Though he was still too agitated to notice. The singer's voice slowed as she belted her final words.

_"I'll be looking at the moon,_

_But I'll be seeing you." _


	36. Wishes

**Chapter Thirty-Six**

**Wishes**

_Mystic Falls, Virginia_

_1956_

_Damon,_

_I wish I had the words at my command to fully express the extent of my love for you. I do not think you will ever truly know, so I can only say it plainly and be done._

_Do you remember when we were young? I see my human life in my dreams. I see pictures of my family, of my home, of my life, and mostly of you; for you were all of those things. You would always ask me to run away with you. Do you remember that? I wish I had said yes. I wish we had left Mystic Falls and never come back. I wish we were human, even if that means we would be dead now. A life, a real life, with you is all I ever wanted._

_We would have children. God knows I wish for that everyday. Our children would have children too, and then their children would have children. I can picture them all right now, fictitious as they are, running through the grass surrounding our little house. We would have been so happy. It is the most beautiful picture my mind can conjure, but it is too beautiful to be real._

_And wishes cannot repair our ruins._

_You sleep so easy at night, but my human life haunts me. I can smell my father's fields in the morning. I can hear the sound of your laugh as we race through the tobacco. I can taste the bile in my throat when I knew you were dead. I can feel our child inside of me. I can see its blood rushing to stain the floor._

_Those memories are hollow to me now. I never cried though my heart suffered. I never mourned for my own child because of your compulsion. Like I was unable to be trusted with my own emotions. Or did you take my memories because you knew it was your fault? I wish I never knew what you did to me. I wish I died when I jumped off of that bridge. Instead, I live as an outcast, pain and vengeance as my only children._

_I blame you for nothing and everything. Not until I was Reborn did I understand the power of your thirst. I suppose I can understand how tempting I was as a human, but I still cannot pardon your betrayal. It burns me to know how badly you have hurt me, and how easily you sleep still. I suffer alone._

_I do not know when you will ever get this letter. If you are reading it now, then we must be apart. Please know that I miss you, no matter my anger towards you. You will always be apart of me. You remind me that I was real, that I had a soul, and that I could love. To lose you forever would be to lose myself. I only need time for my wounds to heal. Maybe you do too._

_We have forever to be apart, and we have forever to be together. When I first turned, I dreaded the thought of forever, but now that we have both wasted so much time, I fear that forever is not enough._

_Look within yourself, my darling. Release your pain and I will release mine. Find peace and we might return to each other one day._

_Please be careful, I love you, and until I see you again,_

_**Elena**_

"Can you believe that, Stefan?"

The papers of Elena's letter shifted in the wind between Damon's fingers. He held onto them tightly, scared that one would fly away, and wrapped his fingers around the bottle of bourbon at his side. His eyes were closed, and amber liquid spilled across his white shirt before it reached his lips. He lowered the bottle, glowering at the canopy of the willow tree above him. To the East, the sun slowly rose above the fiery horizon.

He'd been to this place before, many decades ago. In the distance he could see the old Salvatore Estate, and even further away, the shambles of the Gilbert estate. His brother died not even 200 yards from where he sat, for the second time, at least. Damon and Elena had buried his gray remains beneath the very spot he sat, only marked by the hard, black dirt where nothing could grow. A sea of clovers and verbena grew like a halo around the grave, and Damon was careful not to touch the bright purple flowers. Elena had offered to bring a rock or some kind of marker to lay in the dirt, so Damon could come back, but he declined the offer. "Vampires do not belong in marked graves," he had said.

"She thinks…" he paused to look back at the letter, his drunk eyes struggling to focus. "She thinks I forgot about… everything."

He read the letter again, silently this time. The paper was brown and delicate from being read over and over again. Her scent was faint, barely recognizable upon its surface. The ink had faded, but the sound of her words was crisp in his ears. "'_I cannot pardon your betrayal_,'" he repeated quietly, and his brow furrowed. It had been a very long time since he thought about it.

He folded the pages and placed it carefully into his pocket, shoving the feelings aside. "I miss you, brother," he said miserably. "I wish I could talk to you now. Or…" his lips turned up mischievously, as though Stefan could hear him, "I wish you were here to really screw up. You know, kill everybody in a church or something really horrible like that. You used to make me look so well-behaved." His head fell back against the bark of the tree behind him, a frown encompassing his face again. "_But wishes cannot repair our ruins_," he quoted again. He could recite the letter from memory at this point. Every word was burned into his brain.

He closed his eyes again, taking another sip of bourbon and listening to the wind's song. It almost put him to sleep.

"Well, I'll be damned," came a voice.

"I know I'm damned," Damon replied, for he thought the voice was just a figment of his imagination.

"Damon Salvatore."

"Damon Salvatore," he mimicked, looking like the words tasted bitter on his tongue. "Yes, that's my name. I'm glad I can remember it."

"What the hell is wrong with you, boy?"

He peaked through the slits in his eyes, the sudden rush of light making his head throb. A silhouette appeared to him from a few feet away, and he jumped at its proximity. He hadn't expected the voice to come with a body. He blinked, trying to focus.

It was a woman, he realized. "Who are you?" he said, or at least that's what he intended to say. He was much drunker than he originally thought.

"I didn't think you would remember me," she said, taking a step forward. Damon meant to take a step backward to compensate, but he was clinging to the tree for support. Her hand reached out, its dark skin like paper over her veins. "Go on," she said, almost like she was talking to a child. "Take my hand. I'll take you back to the house."

He considered for a moment the risk she could pose to him, even in this state, and decided he would go with her. He reached forward stupidly, unable to pinpoint which hand was real. When he found it and their palms slid together, a sudden picture overwhelmed his vision, a long-forgotten memory. There was a small girl, gazing sleepily up at him from a pile of hay. Her dark skin was glowing against the white of her dress. A small bow hung haphazardly from her kinky curls and a Raggedy Ann doll lay at her side.

"Abigail Gilbert," he breathed.

She said nothing and the two walked arm and arm through the long stretch of field. It was impossible to tell who struggled across the uneven terrain more; him under the weight of alcohol, or her under the weight of a drunk vampire. In the distance, he recognized the old Gilbert farmhouse.

"I've been waiting on you," she grunted. "Three months I've been seeing your face lurking around the corner."

Damon rolled his eyes. "Elena mentioned your mother was a witch." Saying her name out loud hurt more than he expected. He suddenly wished he had that bottle he left behind, but then he realized it was probably empty anyway. "Glad to see you're keeping up the family business."

"Don't get smart," Abigail growled. "I may look old, but it won't take but a second to sew that mouth of yours shut." She struggled to get him up the steps without falling. "Come in," she strained.

Once he was past the threshold of the big house, the faint smell of something like roses hit his nose. He looked down at Abigail warily. "Vervain," he almost groaned.

"Just so you don't get any ideas," she smirked.

He was absolutely positive that his brain was not capable of ideas at the moment; his head was spinning like a top.

"Sit." Her voice came from somewhere behind him, but he didn't bother to look for it. He did as he was told, clumsily lowering himself into a chair at the kitchen table.

Abigail joined after a moment, delicately placing a cup of tea in front of him. "I've been expecting you for so long, but I never thought I'd find you like _this_."

He didn't respond, staring at the steam that billowed out of her cup and into her face.

"What are you doing here, boy?"

He laughed, "Boy? I'm old enough to be your… your…" Now wasn't the time for mathematics, he decided. "I'm older than you."

"Hush," she ordered, unamused. "I asked you a question."

"I came to visit an old friend."

"I'm guessing you're not talking about me."

He considered it for a moment. He didn't even remember she existed, honestly. "You were my next stop," he said wryly.

Her suspicious eyes bored into his, as though she were trying to read his thoughts. "You've been planning to come for months," she stated.

"Just thinking about it," he corrected. "I ended up here on accident, I guess."

He tried to remember the previous night. One minute he was drinking too much at the bar, and the next he was running like someone had set him on fire. He must have run fast too, if he made it to Virginia before sunrise. _Why?_ he wondered. What could he want in Mystic Falls?

She looked at him suspiciously, but said nothing else. In sync, they raised their teacups to their mouths. Damon's nose paused over the rim of his cup, subtly enough that Abigail could not have noticed, and pulled the steam into his nose to search for any trace of vervain. Being home made him paranoid, it seemed. Or maybe it was just the witch. He took a big drink, not minding the liquid as it burned down his throat. He welcomed the rush to his senses, hoping it would wake him up. "How are you doing, Abigail? Or are they still calling you Abby?"

It had been so long ago since she had seen him, and she could still remember every detail of his face. His hair was much shorter than she remembered, but still swallowed the sunlight into depths of deep obsidian. Every edge of his face was still sharp. His eyes were still that odd, transparent blue. It was still just as unnerving to look directly into them now as the first time she saw him.

Long ago, he had taken her gently into his firm arms and she remembered that his skin was cold. He'd asked for her name and she was so tired she might have forgotten. He petted her hair and told her not to be afraid, that her mother wanted to see her. She never felt afraid for a second with him.

"Well?" he said, still waiting for her to answer. How long had she sat there? It took her a minute to even remember what he was asking. "Abby," she said, distracted. "They call my Abby. You can call me Abigail."

He laughed. "Fair enough."

"You looking for Elena?"

The abruptness of her question took him so by surprise that he choked on his tea, further scorching his insides. "What makes you say that?"

"Why else would you come?"

"I told you it was an accident." He felt very alert now, the alcoholic haze slowly but surely fading from his brain. That was the worst part about being a vampire. Booze never lasted long enough.

"Vampires don't just roll through Mystic Falls on accident. They always have some sort of agenda."

He looked at her skeptically. "What vampires?"

"What? You want names? Like I'm inviting them in for tea? You want their favorite colors too?"

He laughed again. "You invited me in for tea."

"No, I _dragged_ you in for tea. It's different."

"Smoke?" he said, digging in the inner pocket of his jacket.

She shook her head. "Doc says it isn't good for me."

He rolled his eyes. "Sounds like a quack."

He inhaled slowly, getting a feel for the room around him. The wide open windows spilt sunlight all over the cheery yellow cabinets. Pictures littered every inch of the walls, some very old, and some very new. One caught his attention in particular. The young and lithe Jeremy Gilbert smiled through squinted eyes. Under his arm was a beautiful woman with dark skin and big lips. A child hung in their arms between them, the center of the picture. Behind them, a wooden skeleton of a house lumbered over them. It must have been this house, he realized. For a moment, he pictured himself and Elena in the picture and he suddenly felt ill.

Abigail seemed in no hurry to make conversation, which he was thankful for. He admired her through the smoke, trying to distract himself from the inexplicable heaviness in his stomach. She was broad for a woman, but not without beauty. She looked older, a lot older from the little girl he had known so long ago, but not decrepit. Nothing of Elena or Jeremy stuck to her face but the eyes, which he was thankful for. He did not want to speak with those ghosts at the moment.

"You going to tell me about those vampires or not?" he said.

She shrugged. "Your kind seems drawn to this place like ants to sugar. They'll swoop in every now and then, lay claim on some burrow or another, but it isn't long before they realize that the people here have not forgotten your curse." She nodded pointedly at the garden through the window. Even from where he sat he knew he was looking at a long stretch of vervain, its petals an innocent pale violet. Just looking at it made the hair on his neck stand up.

He had forgotten Jeremy's flare for business. _How nice of her to carry on the tradition_, he thought sarcastically. "So they come across a little vervain and run scared?" Vampires these days were so cowardly.

"I think they like it," she disagreed. "Humans present a much bigger challenge when they are not compelled."

He thought of _The_ _Moonstone_. None of the Betties there were compelled, and they were not a challenge at all. They were a good kind of easy, and the vamps loved them. "So, what then?"

Abigail's eyes lit up as she finished her cup of tea, a smug sort of smile creeping into her features. "Supernatural attracts the supernatural. The vampires can sense the aura of this place, they just don't know it's coming from witches, not their own kind."

_Should have known_, he thought with a frown.

"My coven takes care of them with no problems," she went on.

"Why bother with vervain, then, if it's so easy?"

"It protects people when we're not around." She laughed a little. "And nothing's funnier than the face a surprised leech."

"Is that why you brought me here then?" Every muscle in his body tensed to pounce. The fog had lifted enough from his head that he knew he could escape, so long as this mysterious coven was not hiding in the closet.

"Oh, sit down," she said irritably. "I'm not going to kill you or anything like that."

"Why not?"

"Well, you did help save my life once." Her eyes flickered quickly to his and then away, as if she didn't want to talk about it. "Plus," she continued, "Elena would kill me."

He froze at the name, a sharp crack coming from somewhere in the room. His muscles grew so tight that it felt like he was shrinking in his seat. He looked down slowly, trying to shake the feeling. In his hands, his teacup lay in pieces with dark red liquid filling its cracked basins. Abigail leapt into action, crossing the kitchen to grab a towel. The wound in Damon's hand had healed before she even returned, but he had made quite a mess. He held his hands and the broken shards above the table obediently, allowing her to wipe the table clean. "Elena?"

"Boy, have you been listening to me at all?"

_No_, he thought. _Has she been speaking? _

"What is wrong with the two of you? The both of you can't even handle hearing each other's name?"

He smiled a little.

She flitted back to the kitchen with the broken teacup wrapped in her towel. "You alright?" she called.

He didn't even glance down to check. "I'm fine. What were you saying about Elena?"

She sighed. "I was saying that Elena would kill me if I killed you. "

"She's been here?" He inhaled deeper, trying to find her scent, but there was nothing but the smell of dirt and vervain. If she had been, it was a long time ago.

"She stops by now and then, just to check on me. Usually she sits out by that tree and reads."

Damon glanced out to the tree by the garden, three large white stones at its base.

"She told me to keep an eye out for you if you ever stopped by. She gave me some bourbon to keep just in case, but I thought you would be better off without it today."

His insides seemed to scream, his words rumbling like a locomotive up his throat, but he kept absolutely still. _Casual_, he thought. _Be casual_.

"Does she seem… well?"

Abigail was sitting again. "Last time she was here she seemed a little agitated. She didn't come around much."

What could she be agitated about? Was she thinking about him? Someone else? Surely she hadn't found anyone else. Impossible. Then the thought of her face illuminated his brain. Her big smile, those brown eyes, that soft olive skin, and never-ending legs that seemed to stretch for miles until they disappeared beneath the slip of her skirt… Maybe it was possible. "Do you know why?"

"Like I said, she kept her distance. She said something about a friend."

_Friend_. The word echoed in his head. What kind of friend? "How odd," was all he could manage to say.

"I wish I could tell you more."

He looked at her curiously again. Why would she want to help him at all? He was, after all, just another leech. "Why does your coven allow Elena to be here?"

Dark pink faded into the color of her nose and ears, and Damon could feel the heat of her blush. "They don't know," she said. "I keep Elena secret."

"Secret?"

"She's my family," she said defensively. "Not to mention she saved my life, and she has always shown me kindness. She is not allowed to hunt here, of course, so they don't have to know."

He laughed. "Gilbert women have a history with betrayal."

"You would know."

"Do you know where she went?"

"She never tells me anything," Abigail shrugged. "I don't think she stays in one place for long."

He nodded.

"Can I ask you something?" Abigail asked, a little nervous.

"Of course."

"Why aren't you with her?"

He thought of simply reaching into his pocket, unfolding Elena's letter and spreading it out in front of her but shook the urge. "It's… complicated."

"You don't have to tell me."

He nodded. "If you don't mind."

"I was a little disappointed when she first came here without you, you know."

He tilted his head, confused.

"Her visit was so last-minute that I didn't even see her coming. One day she just showed up. My daughter had just left to go pick up some apples down at the market. We were going to make a big dinner for Daddy's birthday, and I was going to bake an apple pie." A sad smile was on her face and she was looking right through him. "I walked into the kitchen and she was just sitting there, right where you're sitting, looking out the window like she didn't hear me come. I knew who it was the minute I saw her. She hadn't changed a day." He could see it perfectly; the sunlight on her skin, a furrow in her brow. "Elena cried when she saw me. I never new why. 'How you've grown!' she kept saying. Of course I had grown! It had been so long.

"We never talked about you, but I always wondered where you were. Even as a child, in those few moments I saw you together, I could see how attached you were. I was sad to see that bond was broken."

Damon smiled. Even a witch knew that they were meant to be together.

Abigail sat silent for a moment, waiting for him to say something, but when he didn't, she squared her shoulders. "How long are you planning on staying?"

"Don't worry. I need to get back soon." He wondered how the club was doing without him, but the thought couldn't distract him from the possibility of finding Elena. Was he ready? Was she? "I was thinking about going into town to grab a bite first."

Her eyes widened and her fists clenched on top of the table. "What?"

"Did you want to come?" he asked hesitantly. He didn't really want the company, but if that's what she wanted…"

"Why would you even ask that?" she hissed.

Then he understood. "Not that kind of bite," he laughed. "Food helps burn off the liquor." Blood does too, but he figured if Elena wasn't allowed to hunt in Mystic Falls, he wasn't either.

Abigail relaxed only slightly. "I don't usually eat in town."

"There's a burger joint close by. Are you sure?"

She nodded. "My daughters are coming for supper," she said.

"Your loss," he smirked.

She smiled a little in response, rising to her feet in order to escort him to the door. "Thank you for not killing me," he joked.

"I suppose I should say the same."

He thought to ask if he could come back, but he decided not to. If he ever needed, he'd rather do it and apologize than be denied altogether. "If you see Elena, say hi for me."

* * *

Damon stared up at the shabby green building on the corner of the street. On the bricks by the door, a large mural was painted over the entire wall. _Mystic Grill's Famous Steaks, Shakes, and Burgers_, it read. Someone had painted a large cow with a smile, pointing to the door. Just below the faded green awning above the door, in smaller but no less noticeable black ink, a sign read, _WHITES ONLY_.

_Oh_.

Damon frowned, inspecting the other buildings that lined the street. Every one had the same sign. No wonder Abigail never ate in town. He was irritated at the thought.

_Just eat_, a voice inside of himself cooed. _If not a burger, then maybe her._ His eyes trailed through the window and towards a small brunette in the back corner of the restaurant. She sat alone, her meal untouched and a book in her hand. How easy it would be to slide into the booth across from her and calmly look into her eyes. _Don't make a sound_, he would say, right as he bit into her-

"What's that boy doing?"

The voice caught his attention from the other side of the restaurant. He turned as though they had called his name, and they looked away. He must have been staring. Embarrassed, he ducked his head and went through the door, trying to pretend that none of it had happened at all. Ducking around the corner of the bar, he picked a stool that was out of their line of sight. "This town's overrun by freaks," one of them murmured.

"Damn kid looked like he could'a swallowed her whole."

He pushed the sound from his mind and turned his attention to give his order to the teenager behind the bar.

As he waited, an old man entered the building, taking a seat on a stool a little bit away from him. Damon stared warily at him. His face was red with effort and Damon could hear his breath coming out in gasps. For a minute he was afraid the man would hit the ground before he made it into his seat.

His face was round and soft, but his body was rounder and softer, both by nature and age. He barked his order at the same boy that took Damon's, and his face stayed red long after he sat down. It was odd to think that he was much younger than Damon. This man could have been his grandson. A chill ran down his spine and he shook the thought from his head.

In an attempt to distract himself, he pulled Elena's letter from his pocket and read it again. Halfway through, he realized he was not reading it at all. The words flew past his eyes, and all he could see was her face when they reunited. Her eyes would find his from across the room. He could see her smile. She would be overjoyed to see him again and run into his arms. He would whisk her away into a happily-ever-after. The end.

Then he saw another story. Her eyes finding his and filling with rage. Her teeth barred to attack. Her hand wriggling its way under his ribcage and tearing out his heart, just like Stefan.

He was frowning when his burger was brought to him. Suddenly everything seemed very unappetizing. The bell on the door jingled with a new arrival. Damon looked up just in time to see the red-faced old man turn to the door. His face was alight with a new shade of red: blush.

Damon turned to see who the man was staring at. It was a woman, probably his wife, smiling just as big as he was. Though he had struggled so hard to get into it, the man slipped out of his chair with ease and strode slowly towards her. He took her hand into his and kissed it lightly before tapping it with the other. Damon hadn't noticed before, but the man was shaking almost violently. "I ordered your favorite," he said as he escorted her back to his spot. His voice was hoarse, barely audible over the music that played from the jukebox in the corner.

As the air settled and slowly diffused into the space around them, a scent wafted to Damon's nose. It was different than the general smell of the elderly. Usually, they smelled so strongly of their coming death that Damon hardly had the stomach to be near them. No, it was more than that. He inhaled deeply, searching his memory for anything similar. The realization came to him slowly. He could smell cancer.

He recoiled, the smell alone making him feel sick. It happened occasionally that a vampire would come across a sick person. Feeding on the sick made vampires sick too, in a sense. It made them weak and ravenous, a disease of the mind and body. It all depended on the severity of the human's illness, but this "sickness" in the vampire could last for days or weeks. When he was still relatively new and did not know any better, Damon had fed on a man with cancer. He was too young and crazed to smell a difference in his blood. Now he knew better. That was why his blood could heal humans. It was so he could safely feed.

Damon watched them closer. Could either of them know? The scent wasn't subtle. Surely she had noticed the side effects by now. They sat very close as they ate, never speaking but sometimes looking to the other to share a look, as though they were communicating silently. Damon never touched his own food, he just watched and waited until they gave him some sort of answer. Luckily, he didn't have to wait for long because the man finally raised his head and said, "How's the doctor?"

She smiled. "He's very well. Told me to tell you hello."

He looked more anxious now. "What did he say?"

"I'm as healthy as a horse." Outwardly, she gave nothing away. She smiled warmly, utterly calm. However, Damon could hear her heart begin to beat heavily. She was lying.

But why? Why not tell him? Doesn't he deserve to know? Shouldn't she warn him? The man took her hand with a relieved sigh. His cheeks were flushed again, in a good way, and a giddy laugh broke from his throat. "Thank the good Lord!"

He turned happily back to his dinner, as did his wife, but now Damon could see her worry. She was protecting him, he realized. She did not want to cause him pain. She was allowing him to believe whatever made him happy.

"Sir?"

The nervous voice broke his concentration. He turned, still frowning, to the boy who had taken his order. "What?" he said a little too aggressively.

"I noticed you hadn't touched your food. I was wondering if I could get you anything?"

"Oh." He looked down at the plate. No doubt it was cold by now. _Serves me right for eavesdropping._ "No problems. I was just… distracted."

"I could reheat that for you," he offered, staring down at the limp patty on his plate.

"Don't worry about it."

Damon turned his attention to the letter again, eating his food as fast as he could so that he wouldn't have to taste it. His milkshake was melted but he drank it anyway. Though he tuned the old couple's conversation from his head, he could not help but to think of them. He thought of Elena's letter, too. Is that really what she wanted? Even from where he sat, he could hear their bones creaking like the foundations of old house. They were weak, decrepit, dying. How could she want that? He thought about the cancer too. He would never be able to bear it if Elena became sick. Pictures of her sunken face floated to the brain, but he shook the thought. Elena was alive, and even if she wasn't here, she was somewhere.

But she was sick, he realized, in a way. She was sick because of him. He jammed his fingers into his eyes as though he could physically force the thoughts backwards into his brain, but they began leaking into his every thought. _No_, he thought. Now wasn't the time for this.

Abruptly, he retrieved his wallet from his pocket and threw a handful of cash on the table. It was probably too much, he realized, but he didn't care. Money didn't mean anything to him. He just needed to leave. Now.

* * *

He wandered with no aim, following his feet blindly. He hadn't noticed earlier because he was so drunk, but he could feel sadness leaking into every inch of body. It made his bones ache. He was tense too, accustomed to shoving the emotion from his thoughts. This is what Elena meant, he realized. She needed to heal, and so did he. _Release your pain_, she said. _Find peace._ He was no fool. He knew that his humanity had begun to return long ago, but it was the good part of humanity: joy, excitement, pleasure. Now his misery was pounding at his ribcage with the beat of his heart.

He stopped when he reached a tree, but it was not Stefan's tree. Close by, the Gilbert house sat dark and quiet in the night. The garden of vervain glowed in the light of the moon. This was Elena's tree, he realized, the one she liked to read by.

He circled around to evaluate the rocks at the base. Jeremy was buried next to the empty grave of his sister, his makeshift tombstone much whiter than hers. There was a grave beside that, for a man named Gil. Then, Elena's, which was covered in a layer of dirt. He lowered himself to sit in front of it, dragging his fingers over the rough stone where her name was carved, barely legible. Beside it, a much smaller stone sat with the _Goliath_ carved into its face.

Now he really felt it. Heat rose to his ears and burned his throat. Every one of his instincts commanded him to bury it, run from it, turn it off, but he let it swallow him. He might as well have commissioned her tombstone, for he was as integral to her death as she was. It was his fault. She had been so disgusted with him that she flung herself off of a bridge.

She was right, he had betrayed her. Guilt choked him, and he knew it was only the beginning because now he saw Elena, human Elena, with all of her frailty, hugging her round belly hidden beneath her dress. _The baby_, he thought, a low sob breaking through his throat. _I killed the baby._


	37. Memories

**Chapter Thirty-Seven**

**Memories**

_Mystic Falls, 1963_

"Don't be scared."

The words were soft like flower petals coming out of Elena's mouth, but they were deadly like nightshade too. A girl cowered beneath her, her face buried in her knees and hidden behind a wall of dark brown curls. "It won't hurt," Elena cooed almost mechanically, like she was reading a script. She reached out and took the girl in her arms, running her fingers through the soft silk of her hair. Her arms wrapped around Elena's neck, light as feathers, but shaking. "Don't cry, my darling. It hurts me to hear you cry." There was a final sob and a hiccup before the girl was silent. Her pulse throbbed loudly in her throat, right against Elena's ear. The flush of her skin was hot on Elena's. She smelled so sweet. Elena could feel her face change as her fangs slid from her gums.

Elena pulled the girl's hair back from her neck, kissing the small spot above her pulse. Her skin gave way to her mouth like butter. The blood was hot and sweet in her mouth. She could not help but to let out a soft moan at the taste, but then the blood was too sweet, too hot. It raced through her veins like acid, burning her.

She opened her eyes, suddenly scared, but she was no longer the one feeding. A head of jet black hair burrowed in her neck, and the pain was suddenly only at his mouth. Where had the girl gone? Then she realized that she was the girl. She tried to say something, move, cry out, but she could not. A pair of arms were around her so tightly she couldn't breathe. It felt like she might snap.

Then the pain was gone.

"Good girl," the voice said. She looked down at the head of hair, leaning against her shoulder and breathing hard. Damon pulled his head up to face her, his eyes a shocking dose of color in the black room. His fingers brushed a tear from her face. "This is the last time," he said. "I promise." He smiled, and he looked so beautiful that she wanted to believe him. She looked down at his mouth and his teeth were stained by the red sheen of her blood. Her stomach rolled. "_Close your eyes_," he said. "_When you wake up, all of this will be over. You will go on as though this never happened. All will be well_."

A sigh of relief filled and deflated her lungs. Of course Damon would take care of everything. She nodded and he kissed her lightly on the forehead. "Close your eyes," he whispered.

And she did.

* * *

Elena's eyes flew open, suddenly alert. A cold sweat coated her forehead, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. The dream had felt so real. She sat up to evaluate the room, just in case. The room was empty except for its furniture; the bed she slept on, a small dresser, and a matching desk. In the corner, a cracked white heater buzzed under the window. Damon was not there.

She evaluated the feeling in her stomach. Was it disappointment or relief? They all felt the same.

A car's engine roared to life somewhere outside of her open window. Dusk glared on the horizon and a sliver of orange sunlight bathed her feet in warm light. Outside, she could hear the night coming to a boil. Voices filled the air as people came to enjoy the night, and someone lightly strummed a guitar around the corner.

Her face was swollen and stained bright blue and black from her makeup. A small spot on her pillow was the same color. She had cried herself to sleep. She shuffled to the bathroom and flicked on the light. It was small, barely big enough to hold her and the door open at the same time. Rather than look at her reflection, she dunked her head straight into cold stream of water from the tap.

She felt dirty. Her makeup must have run into her chair, and she suddenly felt angry that she was even wearing any. In her day, anyone could have a nice cry, throw some cold water on their face and move on with their day.

Giving up on her sallow reflection, she drew a bath. She opened the window to let out the steam from the piping-hot water. Someone played Bob Dylan from a radio nearby. She laid in the tub with a cool rag over her eyes and a cigarette between her lips, humming along to the music. Her insides were begging her to move, to get ready and feed, but she was enjoying the peace for the moment. Returning to one's humanity was an exhausting business. Everyday was either dedicated to wallowing either in grief or guilt. Every moment that she wasn't crying was precious.

The sun was long gone and her bath water was lukewarm by the time she rose. She dressed slowly, picking each garment delicately from her neatly folded drawers. She chose a short, shapeless dress with thin black and white stripes. Her jacket dipped just a little below her dresses hem. This was her favorite outfit, not that she appreciated being so bare to the world, but men seemed to like this the most. She put her makeup on thick and her hair was big. She looked like a painting, but not a good one. She was a cartoon character, a doll. Nobody would be scared of her when she looked like this.

That was the plan now. Surviving was easing, but living was hard. No longer did she wander the streets feeding on anyone and everyone dumb enough to stand in arm's reach. Now she waited for her prey to come to her, and they always did.

Without wasting another moment, she flew through the door and down the stairs. The concierge barely looked up from his paper as she walked through the lobby. She didn't bother to say anything; she wouldn't be staying here long. There was not a soul alive in Mystic Falls who knew her name anymore. She only came to see Jeremy and little Goliath. Then she would disappear into the wind once more, off on the usual journey of self-discovery and self-hatred.

Elena walked in no particular direction. Her little heals clacked across the sidewalk in a nice steady beat. She twirled a piece of hair between her fingers and swung her hips back and forth as she walked. There was no more to do on her part. Just walk. However, a long time passed, longer than usual, and nobody came. She frowned. Where had everyone gone?

After almost an hour, she finally spotted someone, a man, leaning against the outer wall of a grocery store. The smoke of his cigarette obscured his face in the artificial yellow light of the store. The smell of smoke filled her lungs and she couldn't tell what she wanted more: one of his cigarettes or one of his arteries.

She approached him carefully, taking an unthreatening stance. "Excuse me, mister?"

He looked up sullenly, not removing the cigarette from his mouth. "Yeah?"

"Do you have a light?"

He raised an eyebrow in her direction. "You look a little young to smoke."

She blinked up at him from under her thick eyelashes. A little smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "I'm not so young."

"No?"

"You'd be surprised."

He dug into the back pocket of his pants and held out an old black lighter. She skipped forward happily, plucking it from his fingers and slipping her other hand into her pockets. She feigned a grimace, and the man watched as she searched through her pockets with false confusion. "Oh," she said.

He rolled his eyes and pulled a half-empty pack of _Phillies_ from his other pocket to offer to her. She suppressed the urge to grimace; of course the one man she happened upon in the whole town would be carrying the worst-tasting cigarettes in the United States of America. "Thanks," she said quietly.

As she exhaled the first lung-full of smoke, she looked the man in the face again. He was morose, silent. His shoulders sagged under his red suspenders, making him look shorter than he really was.

"Quiet tonight," she remarked.

"As it should be."

Her eyebrows drew together, confused. "What do you mean?"

"You haven't heard?"

"I don't suppose so."

A suspicious scowl twisted his mouth in her direction. "You pullin' my leg?"

A laugh twisted its way up her throat, but she fought it back. The man didn't seem to think anything was funny. "No, sir."

He sighed, rubbing the back of his hand over his forehead. "They shot the president today."

Elena's stomach jumped. She hadn't expected that. "President Kennedy?"

"Yup."

"He was shot? With a gun?"

"Yup?"

"Who?"

He shrugged, taking another drag.

She did the same. Her room at the hotel had no television, no radio, and she had slept the length of the day. How long would she have gone without knowing if she hadn't spoken to this man?

Her ears got hot when she thought about it. She could remember the day she found out he was elected. Kennedy was a Catholic. Her father must have turned over in his grave; he was a Protestant. Elena had thought he was so handsome during his campaign. "Did he…"

"Yup."

"Oh."

She stood for a second longer. She decided it would be best to just go home. "Thank you so much for the cigarette," she said. This man was not going to attack her, so there was no point in attacking him.

He only nodded.

As she walked away, though she wasn't sure if she was going in the direction of her hotel, she could feel tears in the corners of her eyes. It felt silly. She never voted. She never paid attention to politics or the news. This was not her generation. These were not her people. This was not her world to get involved in. She was immortal, above it. She had no place to affect their futures.

She wept anyway. In her defense, she cried at everything those days; the result of never crying for a century. The tears came heavier as she began to think of his wife and children. She was thinking of her father again. Then she was thinking of her mother, Jeremy, and of course, Damon.

She looked up at a dim street sign, trying to gather her bearings. She couldn't remember how many blocks she had walked.

"You lost?"

She turned to the voice. It was a stout man with thick arms. His eyes were black as beetles, crawling over the length of her body. That look alone was enough to understand that he had no intention to give a helpless girl direction. "Yes," she sniffled. At lease she wouldn't have to fake her tears with this one.

"Where ya' headed?"

"I'm staying in a hotel," she explained, "called the _Paragon_."

"Yeah, I know it. Follow me."

She did as she was told, walking a foot away from him to appear skittish.

"What are you in town for?"

She needed to establish a story, lead him to believe that nobody would miss her. "I…" she began, sniffling pathetically. "I don't know. I had nowhere else to go."

He peeked at her from the corner of his eye. "You one of those runaways?"

"I guess so."

"You stayin' with anybody?"

"My boyfriend was with me, but he stole all my money and stormed off. I don't know what I'm going to do."

He reached over to put a hand on her shoulder and she tried not to smirk. This one would be easy. "Sorry to hear that. Maybe you should go home to mommy and daddy."

"I can't go back there."

He nodded and turned abruptly down a street that Elena immediately knew was the wrong direction.

"You're sure this is the right way?" she said.

"Don't worry, baby. Just follow me."

The streets grew quieter with each step and the street lights grew farther apart. Perfect, she thought because now she could really turn it on, crossing her arms in front of her chest and biting her lip. "I feel like this the wrong way."

Sensing her trepidation, the man smiled at her, showing off his long brown teeth. "It's the street right up here." It was a lie, but his heart did not beat any faster, nor did he show any other signs of deception. This bothered Elena. How often had he led girls through the dark streets, calling them "baby" and lying about where he was taking them?

She picked up the pace, walking faster toward the street like any other girl would. There was an electronics store ahead, the last building before the next street, and she could feel his heart beating faster as he prepared to grab her. Just as they passed the space between the store and a pet shop, a strong hand wrapped around her arm and pulled her from the path. She yelped, but allowed him to drag her into the shadows of the buildings. "What are you doing?" she gasped.

He didn't answer. One hand gripped her throat and the other gripped her waist. She allowed him to get comfortable, to think his plan had worked. His hand brushed past her knee and up her thigh, and she pushed him away just enough to free her hands. "Come on, baby," he growled.

Her hand flew up to his neck and she pushed him into the bricks of the opposite building. She could hear a snap from one of his bones under her fingers and he cried out. "Come on, _baby_," she mimicked. "_Don't scream_."

His eyes widened in disbelief as he did just as he was told. His mouth shut and tears slipped out of the corners of his eyes. Her teeth slid from her gums and she barred them like an animal. She wanted him to be scared, to struggle. She wanted his blood to be hot, like in her dream. She bit into the crease of his elbow instead of his dirt-streaked neck. Another groan suppressed itself inside of his chest. She drank him slow, drawing out his death as long as her body would allow.

Far from her mind were thoughts of dead presidents and humans. When she fed, feelings did not exist. Only blood.

* * *

Outside of dreams, human memories fade. No longer could Elena recall the exact shade of pink of her old bedroom, nor the way the land smelled in the early hours of the day; fresh, invigorating, covered in dew. Damon's smell as a human (fresh linen and the salt of sweat), once so comforting, had faded from memory. She had long forgotten what her mother and father looked like, and Jeremy would forever be a shriveled old man in her mind's eye. Gone were the memories of his youth and unending curiosity. She couldn't recall the name of her favorite horse or the color of her favorite dress. All that seemed to remain was the smell of blood that poured from between her legs when her baby died. Once a vessel of life, she would forever remain a portal of death. The memory and emotion stuck so strongly to her, that even as her strongest and most unfeeling self could not hide it away.

She crawled into bed without even removing her shoes. The scent of blood was still on her lips. Closing her eyes, she waited for the memory to come, and she knew it would. Just as she was on the brink of sleep, she saw a woman, a tall woman wearing trousers. Elena remembered seeing her walking out of a bank, and though she was not hungry, she knew she wanted this woman. She was strong, just as Elena anticipated, and her blood was so warm that steam rose into the cold December air as Elena fed.

Her cheeks flushed at the memory, and she jammed her eyes as tightly shut as she could manage. "I'm sorry," she said, though the woman couldn't hear her now. Even as the last bit of life drained from her face, the woman still fought as much as she could. Her hands were in Elena's hair, lightly tugging as though to pull her away. Elena never knew her name.

She said a little prayer, though she knew that God must have stopped listening a long time ago.

Then another memory came, this time of Damon. "What have you done?" he shouted.

A phantom of pleasure waved through her body at his reaction. "I was hungry," she shrugged. Blood was dripping down her chin.

He glanced around to make sure nobody was watching before heaving the woman over his shoulder. "You can't keep doing this in broad daylight."

"They're warmer during the day," Elena pouted.

"How am I supposed to take her away from here?"

"Just leave her."

He dropped the woman and was suddenly right in front of her. "Why do you do this?" he said through his teeth. "We'll have to leave again."

Elena leaned up to brush her lips against his, leaving a streak of blood in her stead. "She was so strong, Damon. I _needed_ her."

The veins under his eyes were like purple snakes slithering down his cheeks and into his jaw. He was hungry. "Stop."

But she was already pushing him up against the dirty bricks behind him. "I wish I had a modicum of your control," she smirked. Her mouth was just below his, waiting for him to take the bate.

He stared down at her, not breathing, keeping his jaw tightly shut. His eyes were slits and the vein his forehead throbbed. "We have to get out of here."

"Just taste her," Elena purred. "Then you will understand. Then you won't be mad at me." Her lips brushed his again and her strong arms locked around him.

The longer he deliberated, the weaker his will grew. He ran his tongue across the blood on his bottom lip. Elena could see his fangs. This battle was over. His face slammed into hers and suddenly she was the one with her back to her wall. In the distance, she could hear footsteps approaching. Damon could too, for he stopped moving. His face slid away from hers and all of his anger was gone. Damon was gone. He was only a vampire now, and she was too. He took her hand and pulled her down the alley, neither of them making a sound.

Elena forced her eyes open, scared to watch the rest of the memory. They had killed a group of working men. And Damon was right: they did have to leave that town once it was all over.

The sun was high in the sky, but Elena couldn't lull herself back to sleep. She sat up, wiping the black streaks of her makeup from her cheeks. She thought about taking another bath, just as she did everyday when she woke up, but it didn't matter if she looked horrible; nobody knew her here.

The city was still relatively quiet. People must have been mourning, she realized. She walked for a while with her head down, eventually lighting a cigarette just for something to do. Nearby, she heard children laughing. It was a Saturday, but the playground of Mystic Falls Elementary School was occupied by a few children and their mothers. Elena watched from afar, suddenly nervous. She walked slowly across the street and through the grass, taking a seat on the far side of playground on an unoccupied bench.

Watching the children brought an eerie calm to her bones, but she couldn't help but to watch the mothers. Most wore sunglasses and big coats. Some were smoking cigarettes or carrying children that were too small to play. They seemed so comfortable, talking to one another, laughing, occasionally turning to look for their child and shouting something like, "Don't pick that up, Jimmy! It's dirty!"

She felt cold watching them, envious. Occasionally, a child would stroll back to their mother, asking for a treat or allowing her to wipe their nose. Sometimes the mother would lift the child up onto her lap and turn to her friend and say something like, "My little Annie won the spelling bee last week!" and then she would squeeze the little girl and nuzzle kisses into her soft neck.

Elena wanted to do that; to wrap her fingers around a child's arm without having to worry if her grasp was too tight, to burrow into their necks with a smile and not listen to the tiny flutter of their heartbeat in their neck.

"You need'a tissue, Miss?"

Elena jumped. She hadn't notice someone had come to sit on the bench next to her. It was a young boy, no older than nine, she guessed, but handsome. He had a square jaw and round cheeks. His coat looked a little big for him and his hat a little too small; his ears were red. "Excuse me?"

He searched around in his pocket for a moment before extracting a palm full of wadded up tissue paper. He peeled one from the ball and extended it to her, his earnest face peering up at her patiently. She hadn't realized she was crying either. "Thank you," she said quietly.

The boy shrugged. "Mom says I'm gettin' sick. Makes me carry these stupid things around."

His mother was right; Elena could smell sickness in his blood. She tried to rub the new black streaks away from her cheeks, and the boy looked away politely. "Where is your mother?" she asked.

"She's been listening to the radio all morning. She said the president died. She's all torn up about it… told me I needed to get out of the house. She even forgot that I'm supposed to be sick or something."

Elena nodded. "Don't you want to go play?"

He shrugged again. "Tristan's mom said he couldn't come out and Nick has the flu. Playing on the playground isn't any fun without your friends. "

Elena couldn't help but to laugh a little. "Do you come to the park to talk to strangers then?"

He frowned a little. "Mom always told me not to, but you're just a girl. Anyways, I saw you were sad." He snuck a peak at her through the corner of his eyes. "Are you sad about what happened yesterday too?"

She thought about it for a moment, and decided that yes, she was sad, though that was not the reason she was crying. "Yes."

He nodded.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Elijah," he grimaced. "My friends call me Eli."

"What would you have me call you?"

He looked at her suspiciously for a second, his nose scrunched up at her. "You talk funny."

"I'm not from around here."

He eyed her for a second longer and then turned to face the park again. "You can call me Eli, I guess."

She nodded.

"Aren't you going to tell me your name?"

"Elena, and my friends called me Elena." What was the bigger joke, that it was the same name or that she had no friends to call her either?

"So, what?" he grimaced. "Are you meeting your boyfriend here or something?"

"No," Elena laughed. "Are you?"

"No!" he blushed. "My sisters always come to the park to meet their boyfriends." He rolled his eyes dramatically before looking at her. "They think I don't know, but I see them all the time. I'm just biding my time before I tell mom."

"No one likes a tattle-tale," Elena said, amused.

"Whatever. It's not like they'll get in trouble anyway. They all get away with everything. I'm the only one around here who ever gets in trouble."

"Why is that?"

"I have seven brothers and sisters, and I'm the youngest. It's my curse."

"That is a predicament."

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

Elena nodded, trying not to appear tense. "A brother."

"Is he older or younger?"

"Younger."

He nodded his head slowly. "How old are you?"

She smiled a little, but the tears had began to fall again. "Eighteen and some months."

"You need more tissue?"

She meant to say no, but he had already reached into his little pocket and procured another handful. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings or anything."

Then she really was crying, blubbering almost, as a swell of misery hit her. Usually, she couldn't tell what was worse, guilt or sadness, but now she felt both. The boy looked surprised at first, and another sob racked Elena's body when she realized that she had probably scared him off. Then a small and warm hand was in hers. "I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"It's not your fault. My sisters get weepy sometimes too."

"They do?"

He shook his head, annoyed. "Mom says it's a girl thing."

She laughed through a sob. "Oh."

He went to hand her another tissue and then changed his mind, grabbing the entire wad from his pocket and putting it in her hand. "You need 'em more than me."

"I'm not usually like this. You just… remind me of someone."

"Who?"

"I never knew him."

He raised an eyebrow, "You're a weird lady."

"I know."


	38. Flying

**Chapter Thirty-Eight**

**Flying**

_London, England_

_1976_

The thick wooden heals of Elena's shoes clunked heavily down each steel step she took. Her lungs were swollen and quaking from holding her breath for too long. She grasped tightly to the rail guiding her downwards, her eyes trained on the ground, which was spinning. Somewhere in the line of people in front of her, a little boy dropped his fistful of toy cars. The clank of metal hitting the ground went off like bullets in her brain and the train of people came to a halt.

Desperate, she pushed forward anyway. The man in front of her threw an indignant look over his shoulder. Even if she wasn't on the step above him, she guessed he was a whole six inches shorter than her. His salt and pepper hair was so thin that she could see the sun reflected in the beads of sweat on his scalp. "Excuse me," he growled.

"Sorry," she said, bouncing her foot up and down. "I'm anxious to get on solid ground."

He softened a little, turning so he could see her easier. "Nervous flyer?"

She glanced nervously back at the giant yellow beast behind her. There were little beads of rains still clinging to the aluminum wings of the plane from the rain shower they passed through somewhere over the Atlantic. She had never flown in a plane before, nor did she want to. Just because she was the most likely person to survive a plane crash did not mean she was any more eager to experience one.

She gripped the rail harder, and the metal gave way to her grasp, molding to the shape of her fingers. "Am I that obvious?"

"It isn't so bad once you get used to it."

"This was my first time," she admitted.

"They say flying is safer than driving."

It occurred to her that someone could say that about her. "That girl is safer than a hungry bear," they might remark as she passed by. They would be wrong about that too.

Ahead of them, the little boy and his mother collected the last toy car from the ground and the line moved forward. Elena never bothered to respond to the man, but pushed forward as fast as she could.

Once on the ground, she stepped out of the way to allow the line behind her to move on, and bent down as if to adjust the strap on her shoe. She stretched her fingers out upon the tarmac, taking a deep breath and allowing the heat of the summer sun to soak into her fingertips. "Thank you, Lord," she whispered.

"Miss?" A man in uniform looked down on her apologetically. "I'm so sorry, ma'am," he said. "The plane can't pull away until all the passengers have cleared the area."

"Of course," she laughed, gathering her little leather purse from the ground. "Sorry." She slipped a pair of round sunglasses over her eyes and moved towards the gate, never looking back at the giant yellow deathtrap looming in the background.

Sounds of reunion filled the summer air. Elena wove her way through the crowd, eyes peeled. "Excuse me," she said, over and over, careful not to come too close to anyone. Once the initial relief of being on the ground had worn off, she realized it had been too long since she last fed.

She saw Klaus first, leaning against the tall glass wall of the airport, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. He stood out, dressed in all black, just as the last time she had seen him. His eyes were untrained on anything but the yellow beam of light beside him: Caroline. Her golden curls bounced around her face as she waved.

"Elena!" she called.

Smiling, Elena rushed forward and the two enveloped each other in a tight embrace. "I will never forgive you for making me ride that thing," she breathed.

Caroline laughed and pulled Elena's face into her hands. "Baby's first plane ride," she cooed, jutting out her bottom lip. "Can you believe that, Klaus?"

He took Elena's hand and kissed the knuckle lightly, looking as devious as he always did. "I always said vampires were not meant to fly. Glad to see you made it in one piece, Elena." It had been so long since she had seen him, she had almost forgotten that he spoke with an accent.

"I just can't believe that you've never left the states."

"I can't believe I let you talk me into it," Elena said.

"You need some culture," Caroline argued. "Anyway, I needed you here."

Four days before, Elena was staying in a shabby hotel in New York City, enjoying the bar on the first floor for its unending supply of alcohol, cigarettes, and drunk men who were too grabby for their own good. In the middle of the day, she received a phone call in her hotel room, which was odd because she never stayed anywhere long enough to give out a number. Warily, she picked up the phone without saying a word of greeting.

"Elena?" Caroline had said, her voice marred by the poor quality of the old yellow telephone. "Elena, can you hear me?"

"Caroline?"

"Elena! I have wonderful news! Klaus and I are getting married!"

Static filled the line as Elena tried to come up with a response. Last she heard, Klaus was the scum of the Earth, and she was happy to believe it. It had been twenty years since she and Caroline had seen each other face to face. What could have changed?

Everything, according to Caroline.

"I went to an art show with some friends," she eagerly explained. "I was standing there, staring at a red stripe on a blue wall, wondering how anyone can call it art, and then he was right there next to me. I don't know what happened. One minute I'm screaming at him in front of everyone, the next I'm lying in his bed… or I think it was his… and he's got his arms around me… well, not all the way around me. You see, we weren't the only ones in the bed… you know how he tends to overeat, and-"

"Caroline!"

She took a breath. "I know it sounds crazy, but… he's the only man I've ever loved, and maybe I could have moved on. Maybe I should have. I don't think I ever really wanted to."

"The last time I saw you, you were ready to kill him."

"And I almost did when I saw him again! He just showed up out of nowhere, Elena. He had that look in his eyes, you know? That scared look like he's about to apologize, but he doesn't want to because he knows I'm about to rip his heart of his chest anyway."

"How endearing."

"Don't judge me! That's my job. I'm the judge-y one. We weren't happy before, Elena. Don't you understand?"

"No!"

There was a pause, the line filling with a grainy buzz in place of Caroline's voice. "We were both hurt… and angry. We needed to separate for a while, surely you can understand that."

Elena frowned.

"Being away from him made me realize I can't be away from him. Does that make sense?"

"No."

"And he made mistakes… and I made mistakes. And we hurt each other. My mother always said that we don't hurt the ones we love, but she was wrong because… we do. Only someone you love can really hurt you. We're human." She laughed. "Sort of. I know I love him because he can hurt me. I know I love him because I can forgive him."

Elena sighed, no longer thinking of Caroline and Klaus. "And you're happy?" she sighed. Her eyes had grown watery without her permission.

"I am."

"Then I'm happy."

There was another pause. "No, you're not."

Elena bit down on her lip and held the receiver away from her mouth.

"You will be," Caroline said quietly. "One day all of this will pass and you will find peace."

Elena thought of her peace, wondered where he was. Wondered _if_ he was. "When is the wedding?"

"One week," Caroline chirped. "I know its last minute, but some of Klaus'… friends have busy schedules. I need you to buy a plane ticket right away."

"Plane ticket?"

* * *

On the way home, Caroline did most of the talking, which both Elena and Klaus were grateful for. She explained how it had taken the better half of two years for her and Klaus to decide where to settle. Since they never really stopped in one place for long anyway, Caroline would rather focus on pretty little cottages and villas with views of the beach and just a short distance from big cities populated fresh blood. Klaus, however, wanted a large homestead filled with all the grandeur and magnificence worthy of someone like him.

Caroline had managed to convince him to set up a small cottage just south of London, near where he was born however many years ago – Elena still did not know. "I designed the house," Caroline bragged, "but Klaus compelled an entire construction crew to have it built."

Elena listened passively as Caroline went on, nodding and occasionally saying things like, "That's nice," or "How funny." She watched as the city turned to country outside of her window, the sun slowly setting over the wide fields of golden wheat-colored grass. Just as she started to fixate on whether or not this lovely home Caroline was raving about would come with a warm dinner, they turned into a long drive lined with tall trees.

She sucked in a breath and held it until they walked through the front door. Caroline draped an excited arm over her shoulders, guiding her through the small entryway. Klaus trudged behind them with Elena's suitcases, an annoyed grimace stuck on his face.

"Klaus will show you to your room," Caroline smiled, "and I'm going to check on dinner."

Elena's pupils dilated at the thought; somewhere in the house she could hear the thump of hearts beating.

She followed Klaus through a long hallway to the back of the house. The walls were lined from top to bottom of old photographs and paintings. In the largest, a painting framed by carved and golden wood, Caroline stared down at her from beneath a tall gray wig, her painted scowl the same pastel pink as the bows in her hair. A black hound sat obediently at her feet. In the frame next to hers, Klaus sat in a portrait before a roaring fire, his powdered wig almost as impressive as hers. There were black and white pictures of the two together, apart, standing with presidents and musicians. Scowls and smiles dotted the wall.

"That's the first portrait I ever painted of her." The sound of Klaus' voice made Elena jump; she hadn't realized she had stopped walking. He stared affectionately up at Caroline in the golden frame. "Her father hired me to paint her portrait, this and a much smaller one to be sent to her betrothed. She was only fifteen."

Elena raised an eyebrow, suddenly curious about the human Caroline. She had not noticed the roundness of her pink cheeks or how wide her eyes looked. There was new meaning behind her scowl, reluctance in her eyes.

"She hated me then," Klaus smiled. "Or she hated everyone. I could never tell."

"I can't believe you have all of these pictures."

"When your life is as long as mine, you learn to document it."

Jealously flared in the pit of her stomach. What did she have to show for the last century of her life? The entirety of her life's memories could be fit into a rusty old tobacco box. A small necklace of her mother's, a gaudy ring of her father's, a handful of letters from Damon. There were no pictures or paintings of her life. It was like she never existed.

"Caroline's been stressed about wedding photographs," Klaus continued. "She's worried how the pictures will turn out since we're taking them at night."

"I wouldn't worry. If Caroline has anything to do with it, it will be perfect."

He nodded. "I know."

They moved on to her room, tucked away into the very furthest corner of the house. Klaus stood awkwardly in the doorway after setting her things to the side, wondering if he should say anything else. "Thank you," said Elena.

"Do whatever you need to settle in. Dinner is ready when you are."

Though she couldn't refuse a shower and fresh set of clothes, she didn't waste a second making her way through the unfamiliar house and into the dining room. Klaus and Caroline were already sitting at the table, laughing together. Klaus sat at the head of the long table, a fire cracking in the tall fireplace behind him. Caroline had pulled her chair closer to his side, but she pulled away from his arm upon seeing Elena. Klaus stood as well, pulling a chair out for Elena. The table was littered with trays of food and bottles of wine. However, Elena couldn't help but feel a little disappointed by the selection; she was expecting something fresher. "I ordered a case of whiskey, just for you," Caroline smiled excitedly.

Elena poured herself a glass. "A whole case was hardly necessary."

"Well now that you've gotten that dreaded first plane ride over with, I expect you'll be coming to visit me more often."

Elena glared at Caroline from above the rim of her glass. "You always were the optimistic one." She plucked a strawberry from a platter in front of her. It was red and ripe, but its juices were bitter and tasteless. Her body was hungry for something else, and Klaus was the one to notice.

"Don't bother with that just yet, Elena. Dinner will be right along."

And just as he spoke, the door to the kitchen opened. Three women appeared and each went to stand beside a member of the table. The smallest one – similar to Caroline in size and shape – went to stand at her side. Another came to stand causally behind Klaus, comfortably laying a hand on his shoulder. The tallest of the three came to Elena's side, smiling softly and extending a hand.

Without thinking, Elena grabbed it, the sound of hearts beating like drums in her ears. She looked to Caroline, her eyes questioning.

"That's Nora," Caroline said. "Klaus and I usually eat at the dinner table, but if you prefer some privacy, you can always use the powder room."

"I don't mind. Is she-?

"No compulsion necessary."

"It's the circle of life," Nora said quietly. "It makes me happy to participate in this way."

"God bless the age of free love," Klaus purred before sinking his teeth into his dinner's wrist.

Caroline nodded encouragingly, though Elena was wholly unconvinced. Tentatively, she took Nora's wrist between her teeth and fed until the food on the table didn't smell like it had gone bad. Klaus and Caroline had finished long before she had, and they waited patiently until Elena finished. After, the three women took the remaining seats at the table and filled their plates. Elena tried not to showcase her discomfort.

"So tell me," she said, desperate for something to occupy her attention, "when is this surprise wedding?"

Klaus and Caroline shared a smile, draping their hands over one another's. "Tuesday," they said.

Elena raised an eyebrow, "A Tuesday?"

"A little random," Caroline said. "I know."

"An old friend of mine couldn't make it any earlier," said Klaus. "He's as weary of planes as you are."

Elena smiled sheepishly. "Where does he come from?"

"New Orleans."

"So what will we do until the nuptials? We have the whole weekend."

Another smile passed between Klaus and Caroline, though it seemed more devious somehow. "We actually have a little surprise for you," Caroline smirked.

Elena pressed back into her chair, anxiety suddenly pulsing through her freshly-filled veins. "You know I hate surprises."

"You can always turn it down if you absolutely hate the idea."

"The possibility of my absolute hatred does little to console me."

"There's a music festival this weekend in Knebworth," Caroline said, her excitement practically radiating into the air around her. "We thought you would enjoy it!"

Images of dirty men and women, all stinking and dirty and piled upon each other filled Elena's brain. Her lips turned down into a hard curve. "Why on Earth would I enjoy a music festival?"

"Klaus and I love them!" Caroline exclaimed, her smile never faltering. "They're so much fun, Elena, really. We sit and listen to the music, have some drinks, and once the sun falls we have our choice of blood."

"It's a good time," Klaus said. "Really. I thought I would hate it too."

"You can have your choice of anyone," Caroline continued. "Just grab someone, drink a little, compel them to forget."

"Snatch, eat, erase," Klaus nodded.

"You can have as much as you like."

Elena looked dubiously between the couple, her stomach inching lower in her abdomen with the realization that there was no way she could turn down the offer, as Caroline had promised.

"There isn't anything else you would like to do?" she pleaded. "Maybe fly in another plane, or practice throwing stakes at one another?"

"You'll love it," Caroline beamed. "I promise."

* * *

Elena shifted uncomfortably as a bump in the road made her lurch forward. One of the wheels of the VW Bus squeaked with every rotation from beneath her. "Sorry," the driver called absently. She couldn't remember his name. He sat with one hand on the steering wheel and the other clasping the inner thigh of the girl next to him. She had dark skin and hummed along quietly to the music on the radio. Elena sat in the back with five others, all huddled in a loose circle around a stained shag rug.

Beside her was a boy, probably the youngest of the group, even though he was the tallest. He had dark eyes and thick brows, reminding her so much of Jeremy. He stretched his long legs throughout the center of the circle and played an invisible guitar along with the music. Next to him was a girl in a tight shirt that said _Peaches and Cream_ across her breasts. If Elena focused hard enough, she could see her dark nipples beneath the white fabric. Once, the man to her right said, "That's a nice shirt." The girl popped her gum with a wide smile in response and Elena suspected that she knew why he would think her shirt was so nice. The man had blonde hair that went past his shoulders and a beard almost as long. Caroline and Klaus sat arm in arm by the back doors of the van.

"We're going to be so late," Elena's neighbor complained. "So much for getting a seat by the stage."

"Don't worry about that, mate," Klaus said. "You were kind enough to offer us a ride, so I'll get you so close to that stage that Mick Jagger will sweat on you."

Elena frowned in disgust, looking from the boy to Klaus and back. "What's a McJagger?" she asked.

Everyone laughed and Elena could feel a blush of rage rise to her cheeks. "Don't worry about it," Caroline said.

"You don't know who Mick Jagger is?" the youngest boy asked. "_The_ Mick Jagger? The Rolling Stones?"

Elena suppressed her annoyance. Blending in was so hard these days. Everyday there was some new dirty man that she was supposed to know about. "Of course I know them," she bluffed. "They have that boy," she looked to Caroline for help, "the one we were talking about. Jimmy something. Oh, he's so handsome."

Caroline blushed for her friend, looking to Klaus for help though there was none to be had. "You're thinking of Jim Morrison. He died, remember?"

Elena looked at the dirty carpet of the van, frustrated. "Oh. Right."

"The Doors were cool too," the youngest boy offered.

"Yeah," Elena said, though she had no idea. Even if she did, she wouldn't agree. All of it sounded the same to her.

The man with the long hair looked at her from the corner of his eye, a small smirk on his face. "What's up with you anyway?"

Her stomach dipped once more and she squared her shoulders. "Me?"

"Yeah, you. Did your mommy dress you up like that?"

She glanced down, confused. She had just bought a new wardrobe last week, specifically for her trip. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

The question was directed at Caroline, but the man answered anyway. "You look like Cher if Cher went door to door selling bibles."

Caroline smiled at her piteously, but Klaus couldn't seem to contain his laughter. Elena glanced at everyone, embarrassed.

"She's wearing an ascot for god's sake!"

The muscles in her hands constricted around her bones and she imagined the feeling of the man's neck snapping beneath her grasp.

As her thoughts turned more savage, the boy next to her cut in. "She looks fine, Wes. Lay off."

"Yeah," said Peaches. "Shut up, Wes. I like her clothes."

Wes rolled his eyes. "I'm just saying what we're all thinking."

They argued like that for the rest of the way, everyone laughing or occasionally chiming in except for Elena. She couldn't decide whether to fully commit to embarrassment or rage, so she settled somewhere in the middle.

They arrived about an hour later, and the boy was right: they were late. The girls stood to the side of the van while they waited for boys to load their beer and wine into their pockets and bags. Elena stood with her arms over the chest and a frown on her face. She could feel the bass of music vibrating through the ground and into her feet. She hated it already.

"Wes is a jackass," Lexi said quietly.

"You shouldn't listen to what he says," Caroline added.

Elena smiled a little. "Thanks."

"Tell you what," Lexi said, "I'll trade you for the day."

Elena looked to Caroline for some sort of translation. "Pardon me?"

"My clothes. You wear mine, I'll wear yours. I'm not trying to impress anyone anyways."

Ignoring the underhanded dig, Elena shook her head. "No, thank you."

Lexi stepped forward with a big smile, reaching under the hem of Elena's shirt to pull it over her abdomen. "Don't be shy," she giggled.

Elena ripped away from her so quickly she almost betrayed her secret by moving too fast. "No! Thank you!"

Caroline's wide eyes met Elena's, silently begging her to calm down. "Don't worry about her, Lexi," she said through clenched teeth.

Lexi stepped back, rolling her eyes. "I'm just trying to be nice."

Elena smiled apologetically. "I just… I can't change right now." She blushed. "I don't have anything on under my shirt."

Lexi laughed. "Hell, me neither!" Then she did something that Elena could have never anticipated. Lexi tucked her fingers under the hem of her own shirt and pulled it up over her head, the soft skin of her breasts bouncing upon release.

Elena gasped, snatching the shirt from Lexi's hands and holding it up in front of her as a shield. She whipped around to ensure no one had noticed, which they hadn't, to her great relief.

"Go on," Lexi encouraged.

"I am not undressing out in the open," Elena hissed.

"Nobody cares," Caroline said.

"Absolutely not! Put your shirt back on!"

"If you're so concerned about protecting my decency, give me your shirt."

Elena stared into Lexi's unyielding eyes, wondering if it would be worth it to just compel her to put her shirt on, but the girl from the front seat was watching her now.

She glanced behind her once more, and when none of the boys had emerged from the van, she ripped the shirt from her shoulders and replaced it with Lexi's. Lexi did the same, though at a more leisurely place.

"There. Happy?"

Lexi smiled, unbuttoning her pants. "Not yet."

* * *

Elena huffed as she walked, thoroughly annoyed and constricted in her new clothes. Every curve of her body was visible under the tight fabric and she feared what might be seen under her shirt. From behind, she could feel Wes's eyes glide over her back.

Sensing her tension, Caroline snaked an arm through hers. The younger boy stood to her right just as he had in the van, walking with his hands in his pockets. "Goddammit," he said, trying to get a look at the stage. "We missed Hot Tuna!" He turned to the man who had driven the van. "I told you, Tripp. You drive too fucking slow!"

"Shut up, Galen," Tripp growled.

"Who's playing now?" Galen said, squinting at the stage. "I've never heard of them before."

Elena could hear the wail of guitars and strokes of piano keys in the distance, but it was only noise to her. Smoke wafted into the sky, making the air cloudy and pungent. She smelled burning leaves of hemp and cannabis, which smelt just as foul in the air as it did in her van mates' blood. As they headed towards the stage, a band on stage began wailing some foul anthem to drugs and alcohol, chanting "the smell of death surrounds you."

It took nearly an hour to get inside the outdoor amphitheater, and Elena was mortified to see how cramped it was. People crowded around each other, all laughing, smoking, drinking, shouting, and listening to the music. They shuffled over and through thousands of people until they were close to the stage, as Klaus had promised, though it did take some "convincing" on his part. Caroline lowered herself to the ground next to him and Elena followed suit.

To their left, a group of men and women had made a large circle by laying their heads in each other's laps. All of them were asleep, which Elena thought was very funny. _Why even come?_ she wondered. The man closest to her was hairy and round. A lit cigarette dangled loosely from his lips, its smoke lazily wandering into the sky. She looked to make sure no one was watching before taking it from his mouth and placing it in her own.

The sun beat down upon them as the afternoon reached its peak. She dragged her hand through her long hair, peeling it back as it began to cling to her face. The stench of sweat surrounded her and she elected to inhale nothing more than her cigarette smoke from that point on.

"Just try to enjoy the music," Caroline whispered, looking guilty. "We can feed once the sun goes down."

Elena nodded, though not entirely mollified. She could have fed all day had she not come to this place.

Rather than pay attention to the dirty men on stage, her eyes drifted from person to person in the crowd. Everyone looked so inhuman to her, like caveman. A girl somewhere behind her stood amongst the sitting crowd, swaying gently to the music with a small smile on her face. Elsewhere, Elena could hear the unforgettable sound of wet lips smacking against one another. A child cried out somewhere in the distance. Cans of beer and bottles of wine flew overhead every now and then, sometimes knocking into an unsuspecting passerby. She kept her head low to avoid any possible collisions of her own.

Galen had acquired a very stupid looking hat somewhere in their trip from the van to their spot in the grass. A cartoon mouth and its tongue hung over the long bill of the cap. Once she saw one, she noticed them all around her. A man that wore one sat next to another man with his face painted like a clown. Next to them, a women's bare breasts turned towards the sun. She had painted a smiley face across her belly, using her nipples as the eyes. Behind her, a group of friends were waving a large Confederate flag above the crowd. She frowned, wondering what possible purpose that could have at a place like this. Her thoughts turned to Damon, as they so often did, and she wondered what he would say if he saw that flag flying in this unfamiliar place.

"Look!" Galen cried, pointing to the sky.

Elena tore herself from her thoughts and begrudgingly followed his pointed finger towards the sky. A small plane circled in the air above them. It dipped low towards the crowd and then back towards the sun. Suddenly it was upside down, and then right back up. A surge of cheers ebbed through the crowd, but Elena eyed the machine suspiciously.

After the band on stage was replaced by another, almost identical, band, Elena resigned to lay back on the grass and shut her eyes. Caroline tried with no success to involve her, but Elena pretended to fall asleep after a while.

* * *

When she awoke, the night sky had a strange blue to its inky vastness. She sat up, confused until she remembered where she was. No band was on the stage, but a troupe of mimes and clowns stood in front of it, performing little tricks that were mirrored on the big screens around them. Most of the group she had arrived with were nowhere to be found. Klaus and Caroline sat near her, wrapped around each other. She rolled her eyes, annoyed that Caroline hadn't woken her up when the sun went down.

She brushed the dirt off of her jeans as she stood, scoping the crowd for someone with short hair and a clean-shaven face. The selection looked bleak.

"You're awake!"

Elena turned to Caroline, her eyes aglow in the blue light of the stage. A third head appeared in between her and Klaus, his head buried in a man's neck. He tightened his grip on Caroline's waste, but did not peel his lips away. A growl rumbled in the back of his throat. "Go on, Elena," Caroline cheered. "There's plenty to choose from."

Elena turned an unsure eye to the crowd around her, all on their feet and focused on a man on stage. _Snatch, eat, erase_, she chanted to herself.

She grabbed a girl by the hand, smiling sweetly. The girl hardly noticed, her eyes glued to the stage with gross fascination. Elena followed her line of sight. A man, dirty and covered in hair, stood alone in the center of the stage, his hand moving slowly in between his legs. He was masturbating, she realized. A shudder worked its way up her spine and she released the girl's hand from her own.

Mortified, she wandered away from Caroline and Klaus, directly opposite of the stage. She needed darkness.

She slipped her fingers around the first man she could find with hair shorter than his ears. He still had a face covered in a black beard, but she set aside her distaste in favor of his easily accessible neck.

He didn't object as she pulled him far away from the screens that still showed the naked man on stage, near the very edge of the arena. When they came to a stop, he looked down at her slowly, his eyes pouring like molasses over her hand in his, up her arm, down her body, and to her face. "Hi," she said above the music.

After a moment of delay, he smiled, and moved closer to her, never removing his hand from hers. "Hi."

"_Don't scream_," she commanded.

His irises expanded and contracted in slow motion. "Okay," he said blankly.

He was much taller than her, so Elena pulled him to the ground. She curled into his chest, almost like a child, and he slipped his arms around her contentedly. The smell of sweat in his pores was not quite right, sort of like he had smoked pot, but not quite. She ignored the smell and the way it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. As her fangs slid from her gums, she could hear him shushing her like a fussy child, rubbing his hand over her back.

She bit into him slowly and the taste of his blood made her gasp. It tasted the way tar smelled, and was thick and slow like honey. She could feel her throat go numb as it entered her, and she realized why Caroline and Klaus liked to come to these festivals.

Once the initial shock passed, warmth seeped down the back of her neck and knees like cooling magma. Her pulse rushed to her fingertips and she suddenly felt very happy, like every sadness was slowly s…l…i…p…p…i…n…g….a…w…a…y...

She felt like she was kissing her creator - doubled, tripled, quadrupled - spread throughout every corner of her body. She was warm and curled up next to the hearth, and the front door was locked, and she was safe, and Damon was there with his head between her legs, and somebody's jugular between her teeth, willingly pouring the warmest, sweetest blood she'd ever tasted into her mouth.

Euphoria swallowed her whole, and she almost forgot to stop. Though her limbs felt like they were made of lead, she forced herself away from the man. Everything seemed to be moving slower, or maybe she was moving faster. There was no way to tell. She pulled the man's face to face hers, but she couldn't focus on his eyes, and he couldn't focus on hers. "Don't tell," she mumbled, though she couldn't be sure that he even heard her. She left him on the ground and stumbled closer to the stage to find her friends.

Caroline's laugh rang like a million little bells somewhere far away and she forced herself in that direction. "Caroline," she said absently. A smile spread on her face and she could feel love growing in her chest. Yes, she loved her friend very much. A girl walking past her brushed up against her shoulders, and she could feel her skin tighten as goose bumps spilled across the surface.

When she found Galen, she wrapped her arms tightly around his waist from behind. He cried out from her strong grasp and she laughed, though she was not sure why she found it to be funny. He turned to face her with confused eyes. A rolled cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth, its smoke green and skunky. "Elena?" he asked.

"What's that?"

He smiled and offered it to her, but she didn't take it from his fingers. She took his wrist instead, bringing the light blue veins to her nose. She wondered for a moment if his blood would make her feel like the stranger's, but before she could fully process the thought, his wrist was between her teeth, leaking thin and sour blood into her mouth; just as foul as the stranger's, but not the same. Her lips went numb and she dropped his hand. "What the hell are you doing?" he screeched.

Then Caroline was there, though Elena had not seen her coming, and was muttering something pointed to Galen with her eyes locked on his. He wandered away without another word. "Elena?" she said. "Are you okay?"

Elena nodded absently, though she was not sure. Her thoughts were moving too slow to come to a conclusion.

"We agreed not to feed on the transportation, remember?"

"Yes."

"Did you feed?"

Had she? Yes. Or was it a dream? She couldn't tell.

Caroline snatched Elena's hand from her side. Just as Elena had done to Galen, Caroline brought Elena's wrist to her nose and inhaled before taking a small taste. She threw her arm down in disgust, spitting on the ground.

Elena meant to ask just what the problem was, but before she could force the words up the stream of her throat, the world rolled backwards and she was looking up at the stars, and then nothing.

* * *

"Get off of the ground, Elena."

"Look at the clouds! I can see a duck!"

"You'll ruin your dress."

"Yes, mother."

Elena rose from the ground, brushing her hands across the ruffled fabric of her skirt, though her eyes cut to Jeremy who perched over an anthill in the dirt. He was young, no older than eight, but the skin of his little hands were wrinkled and spotted.

Elena felt jealous that he was still playing in the dirt. She turned to her mother to complain, but she forgot all of her words upon seeing her. She sat upon a little stone bench with a small Bible open in her hands. Her hair, the color of brown sugar, gleamed in the sunlight. Short curls framed her girlish face. The alabaster skin of her shoulders peaked out from the slope of her indigo sleeves. She looked like heaven.

"Look," Jeremy said, holding out his wrinkled hand.

Elena forced her eyes away from her mother to investigate. His hand seemed empty at first, until a little brown speck crawled out of the cracks between his fingers. She screamed and fell backwards into the dirt. Jeremy laughed as she tried to crawl away. "It's just an ant!" he sneered. He clapped his hands together, squashing the bug between them.

Miranda looked up from her book with a stern frown. "Jeremy," she chided, "that is cruel."

He bent down to catch another in his palm. "Why?"

"Don't hurt it!" Elena cried as he went to smash the ant with his finger.

Straightening her back, Miranda set her book to the side. "Come sit with me, son."

Jeremy ducked his head and did as he was told, the ant still skittering around his palm. Miranda pulled him into her lap and he tucked his head into her shoulder. They looked so similar, Elena realized. The same hair, skin, and mouth. Even their ears looked the same.

She came to stand next to them, taking her mother's hand, but her fingers were so numb she could not feel her mother's soft powdered skin beneath her hands. It felt no different than clinging to air.

From behind her, she could hear the sound of crows wailing in the trees. She turned, expecting to see their branches lined with black birds, but there was nothing there, no trees and no crows. She turned back to her mother and Jeremy, frowning. "Do you hear that?" she said, but her words were drowned out by the birds' call. Though they grew shriller with each passing second, neither Jeremy nor her mother seemed to notice.

Elena looked on in confusion, and her mother and brother began to each peaches, overly large and plump. The sticky juice coated their fingers and ran down their arms, attracting more and more ants until their skin rippled with the hundreds of moving insects that covered them.

Her mother turned to look at her with a soft smile, but when she opened her mouth to speak, the shriek of a guitar poured from her throat. Elena could feel herself crying, begging and pleading for them to answer her, but the music only grew louder and louder until the drums of her ears started to crackle and twitch. A wave of blackness took her sight, Jeremy and Miranda slipping from view. The overwhelming sounds grew quiet as well.

"Quick!" said a voice, and she knew it immediately. "Hide!"

She was staring at the tall stalk of a tobacco plant. She wore the same dress but her feet were bare and covered in the almost black soil beneath them. "Get down," the voice said again. She ducked her head before looking at him, almost scared to face him.

He was young, no more than twelve, his face too long and his ears too big. His curly black hair was stuck to his face with sweat, and he dragged his arm across his forehead to free his eyes. They were dark and round, concern and fear afloat in his irises. "Are you well?" he breathed.

"Damon," was all she could manage to say.

"I do not think we were seen," he continued, as though she hadn't said anything. "Mother will not be happy about my trousers."

She glanced down to his pants, a large whole torn across the left knee. "And you've stained your dress," he said.

As he spoke, the periwinkle fabric of her grown turned red and sticky, like she was bleeding. She yelped, though she knew she wasn't injured. It was not her blood.

"Put these on," he said. His hands and arms were still those of a boy, freckled and scrawny. Upon his palm, he held a folded pair of jeans and a white t-shirt, the words _Peaches and Cream_ on the front.

She hesitated to take them, though her dress grew heavier with blood with each passing second. "Hurry," he said. "Stefan will be along any minute.

She heard footsteps then. They were small and heading towards them at a fast pace. She struggled to change before they arrived. The new clothes felt wrong but Damon didn't seem to notice, nor did Stefan when he appeared a few seconds later.

His little face was red and splotchy from crying. "Father will be so angry," he sobbed.

"Let's run away," Damon said, his eyes hopeful when they met Elena's. "If we run away, father can never punish us for setting his horse free."

"No," Elena said automatically.

"He was going to kill it," Stefan cried. "I had to let it go."

Somewhere, Elena heard the music of guitars surfacing. She wasn't really there. Damon wasn't really there. Stefan wasn't really there. It all dawned on her that this was happening within her own head, but it was real. It happened so very long ago.

Damon wrapped his arm around Stefan protectively. "I will say I did it," he said. Stefan opened his mouth to protest but Damon shushed him. "Go home, Elena. Stefan will wait here while I go back to house. Maybe I will find Mother first and she can protect me…"

Elena felt her feet moving, but she strained against them. "No!" she yelped, for she knew exactly what would happen to Damon when he went to find his father. The mare that Stefan had set free had already been caught. Damon would find his father at the stable, brushing the sick horse's dull coat, a musket leaning against the fence.

Damon would have to put the horse down, she knew. He told her about it many years after the fact, citing it as the last day he ever cried in front of his father.

Again, her pleas went unheard as she tried to warn them over the sound of the music getting louder.

There was a flash and suddenly she was looking at fireworks and a stage shaped like an open mouth. A man was dancing like a chicken upon it. "Elena," a voice whispered. She slipped further into the darkness. Running water rushed beneath her feet.

A head of curls bobbed towards her in the distance. "Mother!" she called.

"Wrong," said the voice again.

A chill set in her bones. No voice was more stained with such self-satisfaction and boredom than this. "Katherine," she murmured.

The ghost stepped out from the shadows, a smirk sitting comfortably on her lips. "You chose a beautiful night to die," she breathed.

Elena looked down. A river of ink loomed at her from beneath the bridge she stood upon. The babble of water was like a song in her ears, calling her forward. She took a small step closer to the edge. "How did you find me?"

"None of this is real, dear. You must know that by now."

"I suppose I did."

"Emily looks pale, don't you think?"

Bile crept up Elena's throat as her eyes fell downward to Emily's body. Her limbs were thrown like a doll's, her skin the color of chalk. Her neck was marked with the shadows of Elena's hands. Her lips were blue. "Yes."

"You were a killer from the start."

"No."

"Even before you turned... it was so simple to take another's life."

Emily's screams echoed in the water.

"A breeder of death."

"No."

"I can smell it coming from between your legs."

"No!"

"You are more plague than woman."

Elena took another step towards the edge.

"The water will be warm," Katherine purred. "Your wounds will be healed. The world is safer without you."

"Really?"

"Jump."

She fell forward, crashing into its surface and choking on the sharp intake of water that tasted acrid and burned her throat.

* * *

Elena awoke with a lurch from her belly, and the foul taste of blood filled her mouth. "Somebody get the bucket!" someone called. Cool plastic lodged it way between her legs and she leaned into it, the caustic smell of vomit and metal filling her nose as she retched. Her long hair had been tied away from her face and somebody patted her gently on the back.

When a jolt rocked her body forward and then back, she realized that she must be in a moving vehicle. Wind roared around her. The cold night air froze the sweat on the nape of her neck. She spat a final time and looked up over the rim of the red bucket, meeting the eyes of Wes across the way. Everyone else was squeezed in next to him in the back of the van, allowing her a wide berth.

The essence of despair floated around in the soup of her brain and she could not gather her thoughts. Her chest felt hollow, like someone had ripped out her heart. Every muscle in her body hurt, even though she could feel her body healing itself, slowly, painfully. "What happened?" she groaned.

Everyone laughed. Caroline, whose hand rubbed her back, pushed a rogue hair behind her ear with a sympathetic smile. "We're on our way home."

"The Stones totally blew it," Galen said casually. "We decided to beat the lines and leave early."

"Plus," Klaus started, a smirk on his face, "we thought you might've been dying."

Elena's eyes cut to Caroline fearfully. Had someone tried to rip her heart out? She couldn't remember anything.

"I told you we would have fun," Caroline said awkwardly.

"Fun?" Wes barked. He sat furthest from Elena, with his nose buried in the collar of his shirt. "I've been riding with a vomiting corpse for an hour, now. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Elena tried to recall where she was before she woke up. Nothing came to mind that she wanted to say out loud. "What happened?" she said again.

"You disappeared," Lexi said.

"I saw you wrapped up with some guy near the bathrooms," Galen said. Yes, Elena could remember the man with the foul blood. Then she remembered the peace.

Caroline laughed. "I found you passed out, leaning up against a speaker, so Klaus and I brought you back to the group."

"Then you started throwing up," Wes growled.

Elena grimaced, turning to Caroline. "I don't know what happened, Care. I was hungry, and you told me to go look for… food, so I did."

Caroline nodded. "Don't worry, you just…"

"Rode the magic dragon," Lexi offered.

"Fucked the magic dragon is more like it," Wes said. "I've never seen someone so high in my life."

Elena looked to Caroline for an explanation, but she discreetly shook her head, signaling for her to keep quiet until they were alone. With no other option, she lowered her head back into the bucket to vomit again.

* * *

Elena sat slowly on her bed, careful not to disturb her sensitive stomach. "I haven't been sick in a hundred years," she complained.

Caroline laughed quietly, kneeling before her and slipping her shoes from her feet. Elena sat quietly as Caroline peeled her stinking clothes from her body and offered a large t-shirt to sleep in. "You can clean up tomorrow. Just sleep it off."

Elena nodded, slowly rolling backwards into the plush pillows of her bed and allowing Caroline to tuck her into an abundance of blankets.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I should have warned you."

Elena's eyes were closed, but she smiled. "I didn't kill anyone, did I?"

"Klaus sniffed out your little friend passed out on the edge of the lot. He was fine, a little drained, but fine."

"And I just laid there? I didn't hurt anyone?"

"Slept like a baby."

Elena breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. Did you have a good time?"

"Well," Caroline sighed, "Galen was right. The Stones blew it. We had to wait forever for them to come out, and they might have been just as out of their minds as you were. I wouldn't care so much if we didn't have to listen to Galen complain about it all night."

"Shame I missed it," Elena laughed.

"We had fun, no thanks to you."

Elena squeezed her eyes shut tight, embarrassment flooding her brain. "Can we never talk about this again?"

Caroline smiled, adjusting the covers once more. "We'll hunt in the morning. You'll feel better."

Elena was asleep before Caroline had even shut the door behind her.

Watching Klaus and Caroline stand across from each other and vow to God and each other that they would never part was the oddest experience of Elena's life, or at least one of the top five.

The wedding took place on a cliff's edge, a few hours drive away from London. Caroline dressed in a modest white dress and carried a bouquet of pink heathers for good luck. They spoke their vows in the dead of the night, mostly due to the majority of their guests who were unable to walk in the day. Apart from the twinkling lights that Caroline had carefully draped across the guest's chairs and the arch behind her, it was all uncharacteristically simple. Elena imagined that there would be a church, something very old and opulent. She expected hundreds of guests and a huge feast, perhaps like the one she had on her first night in London.

"I don't want any of that," Caroline had said when Elena questioned her. "I just want him."

Elena watched Caroline carefully, how she looked at Klaus as he said his vows; how she smiled as the said, "until my soul departs," instead of the usual line; how she closed her eyes when he kissed her. She looked so happy that Elena could not help but to smile when she watched them.

She didn't know any of the guests, most of them foreign and intimidating to her. A low yearning grew in her stomach as she sat in her seat, looking at all the people smiling at Klaus and Caroline and then back at their own mates, as if to say, "I'm so happy to have someone who loves me like that."

As is an unspoken tradition of vampire weddings, the guests stuck around to mingle and personally offer their gifts to the newlyweds once the ceremony was over. It was time to say farewell, as it was typical for the couple to disappear for a while following the festivities.

Elena waited to give her presents last. To Klaus, she gave a tapestry dated to the same century that he was human. To Caroline, she presented the necklace that had been her mother's long ago. Her father had given it to her on the night of their engagement. Though she doubted the necklace was very lucky, she never new any two people so loving as her own parents.

The small group of people began to thin as the sun slowly approached the horizon. Even after Klaus and Caroline had disappeared with a gust of wind, their gifts placed safely in a car to be delivered to their house, Elena stayed behind.

She stood at the edge of the cliff, suddenly overcome with hollow isolation. She wanted to be home again, wherever that was. It meant boarding another plane and suffering the ride home. It meant arriving in an airport with nobody to greet her and no permanent residence to sleep in. It meant finding Damon, wherever he was. She was ready, she realized.

She was ready to find him again.


	39. First Kiss

**Chapter Thirty-Nine**

**First Kiss**

_Mystic Falls, Virginia_

_1985_

_Damon,_

_I hope this letter reaches you in time. The seer I used to track you predicted you would be in Georgia when this letter reaches you. I hope she's right._

_Abigail is sick, and she doesn't have long. She tells me that you have been a good friend to her over the years, and I know she wants you here for the funeral - if not sooner._

_Please be discreet upon your arrival. Her family and friends still do not know about us. She would like it to keep it that way. There's a place I like to stay on 23rd street - vampire friendly - called Mystic Suites. Ask for Tessa._

_Elena_

With his hand clasped tightly around the worn letter, Damon stood wearily in the flickering yellow light of the _Mystic Suites_. The motel, nothing more than a single row of sagging buildings covered in peeling paint, seemed all but unoccupied. A fading neon sign glaring from the window of the main office was the only indication that the place was open. "RENT BY THE HOUR," it read, only some of the letters had gone out, leaving behind a more straightforward, "RENT THE HO."

He pulled the letter from his pocket once more, paranoid that he was at the wrong place, but sure enough he stood exactly where Elena had directed.

The interior of the main office was almost as depressing as the exterior. Brown water stains covered the foam tiles in the roof and the lights on the ceiling gave the smoky room a sickly green look. A woman, no older than 19, sat at the main desk, not looking away from her magazine upon Damon entrance. She was heavy set, with permed hair and a cigarette dangling between her long, red acrylic fingernails. Beside her, a radio quietly played a-ha's _Take On Me_.

As he began to speak, she cut him off. "No vacancy," she said, still not looking at him.

"I'm here by recommendation from a friend," he said. "Elena… Elena Gilbert." Just saying the name filled him with warm anticipation. Was she close? Lounging just a few doors down? Was he about to see her?

"No Gilberts here," the girl said flatly.

Damon stepped forward, using his hand to cover the girl's magazine. "Maybe you could check again," he said.

She rolled her eyes upward at him. "No. Vacancy."

He gritted his teeth. "Is there a Tessa here I can speak with?" In his excitement, he had forgotten to ask.

The girl sat up at the sound of the name and the radio went silent. "Damon," she said, sudden recognition in her features.

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes."

Without another word, she hopped up from her seat and stepped back to the file cabinet behind her. "Sorry about that," she said. "I get paid to keep my mouth shut."

He nodded and she laid an envelope in front of him. "She left his for you. The key goes to room three."

"Is she here?"

Tessa's lips drew into a thin line. "I was just paid for package delivery."

He froze the features on his face, hoping he didn't look annoyed, and locked his eyes on hers. "_I would really appreciate if you could tell me where she is_," he purred.

She looked blankly at him for a moment. Just as he was sure she was going to give him what he wanted, pain split through the center of his brain. He could feel every blood vessel beneath his skull explode over and over until he was on the floor.

Tessa leaned over the counter, looking unimpressed. "You can't compel a witch," she said. "What are you, new?"

He grasped the bridge of his nose as the last of his busted blood vessels began to heal. A witch. Of course she was a witch.

Gathering the remaining shards of his dignity, he picked himself up off the floor. "What's a witch doing delivering packages to vampires?" he huffed. "Don't your kind make it your life's mission to make us miserable?"

She sat back, returning her attention to her magazine. "I was, like, shunned or whatever by my coven a couple years back," she shrugged. "Total misunderstanding…"

Intrigued, he leaned in closer. "Black magic?"

"Not even!" she scoffed. "Just a tiny curse on my ex-boyfriend. Nothing big."

"Big enough for exile."

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, so maybe I cursed the girl he cheated on me with, so what? She was a total skeezer! It's not like anyone was going to miss her." She paused for a moment before looking up at him, wide-eyed. "And it's not like they can prove anything. Anyways, there's way more money in it for me with vampires."

Weary of the young and irrational witch, he ended the conversation after that. He headed back to his assigned room only slightly disheartened. If Tessa wouldn't tell him where Elena was, maybe the envelope would. As promised, a golden key with the letter '3' etched into its face lay at the bottom.

He wasted no time locking himself inside and dumping the contents out on the stale-smelling mattress at the center of the small room. Two letters fluttered down on the linen, both addressed to him.

_Damon_, the first read in Elena's perfect handwriting.

_I'm happy you came. Sorry about the lodging - every other place I've tried laces their water and detergent with vervain. Old superstitions die hard. If you need to feed, Tessa is the one to ask. DO NOT try to compel her. I learned that the hard way._

Damon smiled. Of course she had.

_Abigail has passed. Sorry to tell you like this. If you arrive in time, her funeral is on Monday at the Mystic Falls Cemetery._

He searched the back of the letter for anything more, but there were no clues as to where she was.

The next was from Abigail.

_Damon_, it began, and she wrote her D's just like Elena.

_I leave you this letter as a ghost, watching intently from the Other Side. I would have liked to say these things in person, but this ink will have to do._

_My children left my home not long before my husband left this Earth. Your acquaintance was comforting in my times of dire loneliness. I wanted you to tell you that._

_Though I have left my material wealth to my children - surely you have no need - I did leave something for you in my attic. You will find two boxes, marked with your name. Take them while you can still get inside the house and do what you will._

_Once I am gone I ask that you still respect the boundaries of Mystic Falls. I ask that no blood is shed on your behalf so close to my burial ground. I also ask that you do not reveal your nature to my Coven. They cannot understand what I do when it comes to you and Elena._

_Please take care of her, Damon. Though she is nearly fifty years my senior, I have always felt a maternal affection for Elena. She is rash and impulsive - still so far from who she needs to be. And she loves you. I hope you know that._

_Eternity is an odd gift to possess. One day all of your wounds will be healed. The world will be changed. Look forward. Move onward. The past is exactly where it belongs: behind you._

_Goodbye._

_Abigail Bennet_

Damon read the letter again, a shiver creeping up his spine as he was sure that Abby was watching him at that exact moment.

* * *

Damon watched from afar at the burial. Abby's family sat in the front row, sheathed in black and glaring mournfully at the freshly cut grass. Her grave had been dug at the edge of the graveyard and the sturdy oak trees on the opposite side of the fence cast shade over her. Her coffin was the same color of the rich earth, just a shade darker than her own mahogany skin.

Damon's eyes scanned the crowd over and over, fearing that he had somehow missed who he was looking for.

_Where is she?_ he thought.

Had Elena called him here only out of sympathy? Had she missed Abby's funeral rather than face him? He swept his hand through his hair, disappointment already tumbling around inside of him.

Once the service was over, he waited until everyone had loaded into their cars to drive away before saying his final goodbye. A few attendees hung around to speak to the family, offering murmured condolences or taking once last glance at the coffin.

Just as he was ready to do the same, a woman appeared at his side. She was tall, much taller than him, with broad shoulders and the face of a feline. He recognized her as one of Abby's family members.

"It's not every day you see a vampire at a witch's funeral," she remarked.

He took an involuntary step away from her, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as he braced for a fight.

"Don't worry," she said. "I know who you are."

"You do?"

"Damon Salvatore. Died in 1864, or so you should have. You're the little leech my mother has been sneaking in and out for all these years."

"How do you know?"

"You're not as discreet as you think you are."

He smiled a little, but took another step back. "I should leave."

She nodded sternly. "Say your goodbyes. If she trusted you all of these years, you have earned it."

"Thank you."

"But stay out of my sight and away from my people. Your welcome has an expiration."

Damon watched the woman leave, waiting until she was out of sight to finally approach Abby's grave.

And then he saw Elena. She stood over the coffin, her hand atop the lid. Damon's stomach rolled and he wasn't sure whether to run to her or in the exact opposite direction. Instead, he stayed frozen in place, watching her every movement and twisting his ring around his finger in nervous anticipation.

She looked tall and slim in her short black dress. The shoulders of her jacket were broad and her long brown hair was pulled back. A stray hair was blowing in her face, but she didn't seem to notice.

His feet started moving before he realized what he was doing, as though being pushed by a force unseen. He came to stand by her, his hand just inches from hers, and though he was silent, she knew exactly who it was. Her eyes were red and wet when they glanced up at him, her sorrow permeating the air around her. She was more beautiful than he remembered.

Without saying a word, she raised her hand, revealing a palm full of flowers. Damon's eyes watered at the smell and he took an instinctive step back. She grasped the stems of vervain tightly, and he could hear her skin singe in response.

"I took them from her garden," she said sadly, her voice like a favorite song that had been long unheard.

She offered half of the flowers to him, and the pain of grasping them between his fingers was nothing compared to the feel of her skin brushing against his. They tucked their offering into the spray of violet flowers atop Abby's coffin, and were silent for another moment as they said goodbye.

Damon turned to face Elena first, curling his fists tightly in his pockets and unsure of what to say. She brushed a final tear from her cheek before doing the same, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

A strand of hair blew back across her face and his hand automatically went to tuck it behind her ear. She took a hesitant step away from him, her eyes flicking to the ground. Embarrassed, he curled his fist back at his side. "I didn't think you were going to make it," he finally said.

"Neither did I."

"What kept you?"

"I was staying near the house… in case she needed anything."

He nodded. "She would be glad you did."

Silence overcame them once more. A car honked on the nearby freeway, and they both looked to its source rather than each other.

"You look well," Elena said.

The corner of his mouth twitched, and for a fleeting second she saw his signature smirk. "Well, I had to dress up when I thought you might be here," he half-joked. He was wearing his best suit, after all.

Unamused, Elena stared straight-faced at him. For the first time since they had known each other, it was Damon who shrunk under Elena's unyielding gaze.

There was silence again until Damon finally blurted, "I'm sorry." There wasn't anything else he could think to say.

Her eyes started to water again and against her instincts, she let them. Taking a furtive step closer to him, she chanced a look directly into his fearful eyes. He braced for her to lash out, scream, or swing her fists at him, so he was surprised when she took another step forward and tentatively wrapped her arms around his neck.

He felt frozen again, unsure if he was allowed to reciprocate. His heart beat loudly in both of their ears as he slowly wrapped himself around her.

Everything was so different and the same. He smelt like leather and cologne and she smelt like warm perfume. His hair had grown too long in the back and her feathered banged tickled his chin. But she fit under his arm just as she always did, and he still fit around each of her curves like a blanket.

"Me too," was all she could say. Her nose was red.

He wrapped his arms tighter around her, burying his head in her shoulder. "I missed you."

* * *

"What in the hell is that?"

Damon smiled proudly, his arms perched victoriously over the hood of his car. The engine roared aggressively, scaring the birds from their place in the trees. Elena covered her ears.

"What do you think?" he called.

"It was prettier when it was silent!"

He smirked, circling around the front of the monstrous blue vehicle and holding the door open for her. She rushed forward and slammed the door shut behind her, if only to mute the growling engine.

The radio blared when Damon turned the keys in the ignition. He hurried to turn the volume down and put the heat on full blast. "Have you always been so loud?" Elena scoffed.

They were both silent for a moment, Elena's words hanging in the air between them. Damon look down at the steering wheel, a little embarrassed until Elena erupted in laughter. The sound was so unfamiliar that he jumped when he first heard it. She covered her mouth, as if to hide her smile, but the music of her laugh slipped through the cracks of her fingers until he was laughing too.

He drove them to the only place in town he knew, unsure if it was even still standing. _Mystic Grill's Famous Steaks, Shakes, and Burgers_ was still located in the shabby green building on the corner of the street, though now it was just called _Mystic Grill_. There was no longer a sign that read _WHITES ONLY_, though if Damon focused hard enough, he could still see the letters beneath a fading coat of green paint above the door. He found himself thinking of Abby again.

They took a seat at the bar, draping their coats over their chairs and glancing awkwardly at the menus in front of them. Damon noticed that Elena sat awkwardly straight in her chair, as though still bound by an invisible corset. She looked elegant and out of place in the shabby bar.

When the bartender came by and asked for their order, Elena simply glanced at Damon. "I'll have whatever he's having," she said.

He smiled. "Jim Beam, neat."

Once the bartender had left, they looked at each other expectantly. Where do you start to catch up when you've been separated for so long?

"How's the club?" Elena said.

Damon frowned, taking the glass from the bartender's extended hand and taking a large gulp. "Burned down."

Elena looked apologetically at the bartender. "Just bring us a bottle when you get a minute."

"We were found out by a couple of hunters," Damon continued. "One of your girls, I'm sure you don't remember her, led them to us. Or her boyfriend did. He said you fired her or something."

"What was her name?"

"Alice," he said matter-of-factly.

Elena wished she had a grave to roll over in. Of course she would come to regret her kindness. That's just how life is sometimes.

"Rather than target the vampires alone, the hunters thought it would be easier to just set the whole thing on fire."

Elena's eyes went wide. "The girls?"

"Only a few made it."

This time she drained her own glass. "How long ago was this?"

"Winter of '63."

"Wow," was all she could think to say.

He nodded, pouring them both another glass. "I stayed in Memphis for a few more years, you know, just in case you came looking for me, but the hunters started getting smart. I had to get out."

Now she understood why he had been so hard to find. She headed straight for Tennessee after she arrived back in the United States in the summer of 1976. She was never able to find _The Moonstone_, and assumed it had been cloaked by a witch. Her stomach sank and her cheeks turned red with guilt now that she understood.

"Business wasn't doing so well anyway," he said. "It was only a matter of time."

"I'm sorry."

He sighed. "What about you? What have you been up to?"

The truth sat on the tip of her tongue. She saw visions of days spent in bed and nights prowling the streets. The depression and mania following the reawakening of her emotions. Purging guilty tears and sorrowful tears and happy tears in bathtubs filled with lukewarm water. "Nothing too exciting," she shrugged.

"Settled anywhere?"

She shook her head. "I've been bouncing around from place to place. Doing a little exploring."

"Sounds fun."

"Not really," she said truthfully.

They went on like that until the sun went down, both draining that bottle of bourbon until they were cross-eyed and laughing. Not until Elena was drunk was she ready to confess what she had really been up to. She explained how she had spent her years in isolation and self-hatred. Relief swelled in her chest when Damon told her that he had done the same thing. They were loud and flirty, and more comfortable together than they had been in a century.

"I hate this stuff, you know," Elena blurted.

"What stuff?"

Elena shook the bottle of bourbon between her fingers, sloshing the little bit of liquid around in the bottom and laughing.

Damon was laughing too. "Then why do you drink it?" He had never seen her drink anything else.

She shrugged as she took another sip. "Because you liked it, I guess."

He opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off the bartender's last call. They stumbled out of their seats and shrugged into their coats, grinning at each other sheepishly.

Without even thinking about it, Elena wrapped her hand around Damon's arm, allowing him to drunkenly guide her towards the door. He was contented to have her so near, but she pulled back on him just as they were about to reach the exit.

He followed her gaze across the bar, to a young couple seated in the corner. They were familiar strangers; the boy with pitch-black hair and pale skin and the girl under his arm with long brown hair and deep brown eyes. Their nervous hearts beat loudly in Elena's ears, and she watched with fervent anticipation as the boy slowly leaned in closer to the girl. His lips brushed against her ear and her cheek before placing a soft kiss on her lips. They blushed when he pulled away and Elena's own heart fluttered at the sight of this first kiss.

Damon was looking at her, unaware of anything but the flushed red of her cheeks. She turned back to him and he began to tease her about holding her liquor, but all thoughts of conversation deserted him when she pressed her lips against his. She was soft and timid, as though this was their own first kiss. Damon was smiling when she pulled away, but she said nothing, and continued out toward the car.

They sat quietly as they waited for the car to heat up. Damon grasped the steering wheel tightly, afraid he would keel over and wake up alone. When he turned to look at her, she was gazing out of the window, frowning. "What are you thinking about?" he said.

Elena's reached over to grab his hand, and held it with both of hers in the lap. "I was alone for a really long time," she said quietly. "Everything has moved past me. Everyone is dying and being born again. I closed my eyes to it. I didn't want to see because I felt like I didn't belong. I couldn't tell you who the president was in 1943, or why we fought in World War I. I feel like I've wasted all of this time. I feel like I've been frozen in the block of ice that's just now beginning to melt. "

"You're stuck."

"Stuck."

* * *

The moon was low in the sky, yellow and big. Damon and Elena stumbled, hand in hand, over uneven terrain. "Where are we going?" Elena giggled.

"Somewhere we should've gone a long time ago."

Before she could press him any further, he stopped. In the distance, the bare branches of Elena's tree swayed eerily in the night. The stones beneath glowed in the light of the moon.

The smile fell from Elena's face and she stepped forward automatically upon seeing it. Damon followed close by.

She went first to her brother's tombstone, long weathered by wind and rain. Damon came to stand by her, wrapping his fingers around hers. Pride swelled inside of her when she thought of Jeremy. He was just a child when his life fell apart, but he still survived. He was happy.

She then glared down at her own empty grave. Long ago, she buried herself there without realizing it. She kicked the stone over so that her name was buried in the dirt. She may have died in 1865, but her life was not over yet.

Damon squeezed her hand and they kneeled to get a look at the smaller stones on either side of Elena's over turned tombstone. The first she recognized as Goliath's tiny stone, on which she had engraved his name and the year of his death, 1945. The other was unfamiliar. It was the whitest of all the stones, with a dark inscription on its face. She leaned in close to read the small letters.

_Lily Salvatore-Gilbert_

_1865_

Elena's eyebrows knitted together and she turned to Damon, who gazed sadly down upon the little stone. "It was a girl. I never told you that."

The breath caught in her lungs and she slowly turned to look again. "Lily?"

"You said you wanted to name the first one after your father if it was a boy… or my mother if it was a girl."

"The first one," she repeated, and tears came to her eyes.

Damon buried his head in his hands, his shame overwhelming. "I never meant to… I would give anything to take it back."

She scooted closer to him, wrapping her arm through his and laying her head against his shoulder. "Thank you for telling me." She felt at peace knowing that the enigma that haunted her for so long had a name. Her child had a name. And she loved her.

They sat at the graves until sunrise, mourning together for the first time. When they finally stood up, wiping the dust from their pants and stretching out their stiff joints, a sense of relief spread through their bellies. The weight of the world no longer crushed them.

They walked to Stefan's tree in the orange light of morning. There, Elena apologized for what she regarded as one of the greatest mistakes of her life.

What was left of the Gilbert and Salvatore estates had long since been bulldozed and replaced by a strip mall and adjacent parking lot. They each said a silent goodbye as they drove past, for they both knew that when they left Mystic Falls it would be a long time before they could return.


	40. Proof

**Chapter Forty **

**Proof**

_1989_

His fingers plucked the threads of her corset like strings on a harp. With each stroke, she melted closer to him. "Damon," she muttered. She pressed her face into the tips of his fingers, then the palm of his hand. She folded herself into the crook of his elbow, then the nape of his neck. She was warm like sunlight. The smell of lemongrass and honey was thick in her dark hair.

"Damon, you're hurting me." Her voice was far away.

He looked down. Her red dress was on the floor, and she was still burrowed in his chest. "You're hurting me," she said again.

The skin of her shoulders was sallow and her eyes were empty. The smell of blood was strong in his nose. "Elena," he said, "what's wrong?"

Her dead eyes flickered up to his. "You're still hurting me," she growled.

He took a step back from her, hoping to undo his offense. "I'm sorry."

"You're still hurting me." Her voice was loud now.

"You're hurting me."

"You're hurting me!"

Damon sat up in a cold sweat. Elena, the real one, sat on the edge of the bed, her silhouette illuminated by the glowing blue light of a TV. "You okay?" she said absently.

He crawled up behind her, peeling the blanket from around her shoulders and wrapping himself around her instead. "Nightmare," he shrugged. "What are you watching?"

Images of a handsome man standing before a great wall danced on the screen. Hundreds of people, young and old, stood around and on top of the wall, dancing and cheering. "That man says that wall has been standing for almost thirty years," she said. "They're going to tear it down."

He nodded. "That's great."

"That's what the man says… I wouldn't know anything about it." She leaned further into him. "I don't know _anything_."

"I can tell you anything you want to know."

"How long do you have?" she joked.

"Forever."

"Tell me about your nightmares first."

He buried his head in her shoulder. "It was nothing."

"No secrets," she warned.

"You know what it was about."

She leaned forward to turn the TV off and the room went black. She turned to face him, pressing her lips softly to his cheek. "I love you," she said into the darkness.

"I love you, too."

"I wish you would leave those memories behind."

"I don't know if I could ever do that."

"I didn't think I could either, at first."

"How'd you do it?"

She sighed. "Once I accepted what happened, I noticed the pain getting a little smaller every day."

"That easy, huh?"

"Not easy," she said. "But now I don't hurt anymore."

* * *

_1990_

"Culture Club."

"Culture Club?"

"Yep."

"I ask you for your least favorite thing about the decade and the best you have to offer is Culture Club?"

Damon smirked. "If I ever hear _Karma Chameleon_ again, I will personally put a stake through my own heart. Yours too, if you want."

"I'll get back to you," Elena giggled.

"Well, what about you, Miss Priss? Since my answer was such a disappointment."

She thought for a moment. "I guess Boy George is a little creepy."

"That's what I thought."

They lay on the hood of Damon's Chevy. It was the First of January and the orange light of a new year bled into the gray morning sky. The blanket draped over the two of them have eventually migrated onto Elena, leaving him bare to the cold, but he didn't mind. She lay with her body draped over his, and he never felt so warm.

"Fine," she said. "What was your favorite?"

"Well, that should be obvious. I found you again."

She pressed herself closer to him. "Technically, _I_ found you."

"Either way," he shrugged.

"That was my favorite too."

They were quiet for a moment before Elena spoke again. "Would you do anything differently?"

"What do you mean?"

"Say we were meant to be like this. We were meant to go through everything just the same. Katherine, the baby, dying, everything. Would you have done anything different after?"

He thought for a moment. "If it meant I wouldn't be here with you right now, no."

She nodded.

"Why? Would you?"

"I wish I had more to show for it all."

"What do you mean?"

"Caroline has this wall. Her and Klaus, I mean. They have this beautiful wall in their home, and its covered in pictures of them. I saw Caroline as a young girl, and Klaus when he was human – can you imagine? It was the most amazing thing I've ever seen. They have proof that they were here, and they lived. I don't have anything like that. I've wasted so much time."

He ran a hand through her hair. "What better time to stop wasting it, then?"

"I guess."

The picture of two dusty boxes buried in Abigail Bennet's attic came to mind. He sat up. "Let's go on a trip."

"What?"

"We'll get a camera, make new memories. You know what they say, today is the first day of the rest of your life."

"And it's a long life."

He laughed. "Why not? We don't have anywhere to go anyway."

"Really?"

He slipped his hand behind her neck and pulled her close to him. The sun broke the horizon and the sky was ablaze.

They drove everywhere, sometimes going all night. They never stayed anywhere too long, and they never talked about stopping. They went to old places, like Chicago, and they went to new places too. Elena had never seen the Grand Canyon and Damon always wanted to see the Hollywood sign.

That was the way it was.

Elena bought a brand new Polaroid camera the day before they left. She always kept it secured around her neck, just in case. She took pictures of everything they saw, whether it be beautiful sunsets or rocks shaped like Abraham Lincoln. Mostly, she took pictures of Damon.

"Smile!"

She blinked against the afternoon light. There was a flash and she dragged the jacket draped over her torso over her eyes. "I'm sleeping," she groaned.

"I'm making memories here," Damon sang. There was another flash.

She threw her jacket down. "Fine. I'm awake."

He smirked and turned back to the steering wheel. They were crawling across an icy highway, the heater blasting and the stereo low.

"You woke me up for this?" she whined, snatching the camera from his lap.

"I was bored."

"When will we get there?"

"Why? You have plans?"

"I have a hot date," Elena said. "Real handsome, but a little smug."

"He sounds like a dick."

"He is, but I think he has money. I don't want to be late."

* * *

_1994_

Elena was in a poor mood when they reached Memphis. She wasn't eager to visit a city that had seen the worst of her. She sat stiffly at the table in a dimly lit diner, an open notebook in front of her, while Damon paid at the register. "Thought the waitress might cry when she saw the tip," he said as he sat down.

She made another note before looking up. "Well, breakfast was excellent."

His eyes flickered to the small, red stain on her jean jacket. "Delicious," he agreed.

She made a final note in her notebook before slipping it back into her back. "We've driven ten thousand miles today, officially."

"That's all?"

"I know. It feels like we've been driving a lot longer."

"You want to hang around here for a little while?"

She gathered her things, scowling. "No."

He hopped up to follow behind her, giving a parting wave to their waitress. "Why not?"

She dug around in her bag, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a BIC lighter. "What kind of diner is non-smoking anyways?"

"Times are changing."

"I wish they would stop."

He took one for himself and they walked quietly for a moment, leaving the car behind on the street. His free hand absently found hers.

The weather was turning warm as March rolled to end and he was sweating under his leather jacket. They scanned the shops lining the streets for warmer clothes. Damon stopped to peak in a window and Elena leaned against the wall as she waited for him to decide if he wanted to go inside or not. He'd always been picky about his clothes.

"You need a new jacket," he said absently.

"I do?"

"There's blood on that one."

She glanced down. Of course there was. Even when she was careful, she still spilled. As she glanced up, a gaggle of girls passed. They were pale and waifish. One girl packed her dark hair in buns and wore a short sundress with yellow flowers. When another brushed her hair over her shoulder, a cloud of flowery perfume blew into Elena's face. She could feel the veins under her eyes flutter, even though she had already eaten. She felt jealous.

"Do I look out-of-place to you?" she said suddenly.

"What?" Damon laughed, turning away from the window.

"If you saw me walking down the street, and you didn't know me, would you think I belonged?"

"No."

"No?" she scoffed.

"You belong right here," he said, raising his hand, still bound around hers. "So if I saw you across the street, of course I'd think you look out-of-place."

She rolled her eyes. "God, you're so embarrassing."

He pulled her closer, draping an arm over her shoulder. "What's wrong with you?"

"I don't know."

He followed her line of sight, still glued to the backs of the girls.

"Still hungry?"

She sighed. "No. Keep looking around, I need to do something."

"What?"

Her lips brushed his cheek and she walked away without an explanation. "I'll meet you for lunch!" she called.

"Where?"

"I'll find you!"

She found him a few hours later, barking into a cellular phone outside of a Spencer's. "I told you I won't go any higher than five thousand," he growled. "You have until tomorrow morning to give me an answer." He snapped the phone shut and forced it deep into his pocket with an exasperated sigh.

A car roared passed and in the distance two others honked at each other. People spiraled around him, laughing and talking over one another. But even beneath the hundreds of footsteps, he could hear her familiar gate coming toward him. He smiled when he caught the top of her head bobbing through the crowd.

She stopped when she emerged through the parting crowd, and he didn't recognize her at first.

"What do you think?"

Her long hair was cut short, and she traded her jeans for a long, gray dress and boots.

"What did you do?"

"I'm blending in," she grinned.

* * *

"You're sure you won't come in with me?"

Elena twirled her newly short hair around her finger, glaring at the red brick of a barber shop. "Pass," she muttered.

"I'll be back," he smirked.

He left her behind in the car, grateful that she hadn't come with him. He knew she wouldn't. The shop was empty aside from one man. He was eerily familiar, but he looked like he could still be in high school. He sat in a spinning chair, a Gameboy in his hands. "Thomas?" Damon said.

"What's up?"

"Damon Salvatore," he said, offering a hand.

"Thanks for coming this late. I wanted to wait until after the shop closed."

"No problem."

"You're lucky you e-mailed me when you did. This stuff sells fast."

"Lucky?" Damon grinned, pulling his wallet from his back pocket.

"Yeah, I was surprised to see your offer. I mean, all of this prohibition stuff is popular, but not that popular."

"I'm a collector," Damon shrugged.

"My father was too," Thomas sad. "Passed away a few months ago, left me this place and a warehouse full of crap. I would have preferred money."

"Well, I'm happy to facilitate."

Thomas smiled, sliding a heavy cardboard box across the floor. "It's all yours."

Damon threw a backwards glance at the car. Elena had slid down in her seat, chewing her nails. "Listen," he said, "my girlfriend hates when I spend money on this stuff. If I throw in an extra hundred, do you think you could leave this out back for me?"

"Just leave it there?"

"Behind the dumpster. I'll come for it after dark."

Thomas thumbed through the money eagerly. "Whatever you say, man."

"So, Tom's Barber Shop - was Tom your father?"

"Yeah. Thomas is a family name. Our family has owned a barber shop for nearly a century. We moved here after a fire in the 60s."

Damon nodded. "That's a shame."

Thomas shrugged. "I'm selling the shop too, if you know anybody that's interested."

Damon retreated back to the car, his wallet significantly lighter. Elena sat up straighter when he was back in the car, relieved that he was back. "What was that all about?" she sighed.

"You'll see."

* * *

_1995_

"Watch your step."

Elena blinked against the blue fabric of her blindfold, holding her hands blindly out in front of her. "Please take this thing off of my eyes," she complained.

"Patience is a virtue," Damon sang.

"I lost my virtue a really long time ago," she sang back.

"Alright, you can look."

She gratefully ripped the blindfold from her eyes. "It's a building," she said. "It's a very old building."

"Come on. The prize is inside."

Cool air blew the hair from her face as they entered. Amber lights hung low against the charcoal brick on the walls. A bar ran along the back wall, new bottles of liquor gleaming from with their labels unbroken. She could smell the leather of the freshly unboxed barstools and the fresh coat of dark paint along the wooden floors.

Damon stood to the side nervously, awaiting her verdict. "A bar," she said quietly. "You bought a bar?"

The color drained from his face. "More than a bar," he stammered. "It could be our… you know, place."

She stared at him for another minute and just as he opened his mouth to babble even more, she smiled. "I love it," she said.

He let the air out of his lungs. "You do?"

She nodded.

"Then come upstairs."

The walls were the same dark brick as below. Long, white curtains billowed in the summer breeze that came in through the windows. "What is this?" she said nervously. It seemed too small to house the girls like they did at the Moonstone.

"Home," was all he said.

Her stomach leapt at the word. She watched him as he went around, straightening photographs on the mantle and brushing the dust from the coffee table. They were home, she realized. She could wake up every morning and water the same plant and make coffee in the same pot. And Damon would be there, smiling at her from the couch or brooding by the bookcase. Home, she thought.

She came up behind him, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in between his shoulder blades. He took her hands and began walking forward, leading her to the end of a long hallway and into the bedroom, their bedroom. "Look," he said.

She peaked out from behind his shoulder and there was a moment when she didn't realize what she was looking at. The wall behind the bed was covered in framed photos. She didn't recognize them at first. There was a black and white photo of a couple arm-in-arm, grinning on a dance floor. Another showed a woman sitting on the front steps of a barber shop, frowning and looking toward the rising sun. There was a sleeping man sprawled on the floor, his hat beside him and a ball of fur buried in the nape of his neck.

It was them.

Her own face smiled down at her, her arms wrapped around Caroline's shoulders. There was Damon, reading in his study. Letters, soft and wrinkled from age and use, they had written during the war were framed. The portrait she had sent him in her first package in 1864 was next to them. She was seventeen in the photo, but she looked even younger. The blue printers of the Gilbert Estate hung in large frame over the dresser. "How?" she whispered.

"Some of it I kept. Some of it I went looking for."

"When?"

He laughed. "We didn't just spend a decade on the road for nothing."

"All those meetings? Those phone calls?"

"Most of it was from Abigail."

"Abigail?"

"Apparently Jeremy raided my father's home before he first fled Mystic falls. His things were passed down when he passed."

She moved closer to look at the older pictures. "Of course she had all of this and didn't tell me."

"But now you have proof."

"Proof?"

"That you lived."


	41. Epilogue

**Chapter Forty-One**

**Epilogue**

_Richmond, Virginia_

_2009_

The world was inverted. Men could walk down the street holding hands and women were no longer confined to the home. A black man was the president, the first ever, and he was the first Elena had ever voted for, as Damon reminded her that part of being alive was being apart of the world, no matter how old you are.

There were other things, some more complicated, that took her longer to understand. Hardly anyone ever sent letters in the mail anymore, but everyone had a cell phone, with the wealth of the world's knowledge held snugly in their pocket. Humans touched space, and explored the sea. Limits were nonexistent in this new world.

She hated it all, once. It had so offended her sensibilities that she wondered if the world was not coming to its end, but Damon made her understand. He explained how love is uncontrollable. How some women loved women for no better reason than why he loved her. He showed her the beautiful young people, how they created music and art and laughter and change. She saw pictures of them marching in the streets, their faces frozen as they shouted. She saw passion and love and knowledge. He took her to concerts and art galleries, and taught her how to feel music. She watched movies and read books about all the years that had gone by her. She learned every president's name, studied war and politics.

When it was too much, or the world was too dark, they would sit in the bathtub and smoke, and nobody would judge them. They could soak until they were drunk off of wine and each other, laughing and splashing. Other times, they would sit quietly together on their big bed, surrounded by the soft gray sheets. If Elena was upset, Damon would sit behind her and rub her back or braid her hair, which had grown long again. If he was upset then he would lay his head in her lap and she would hum those old songs that were once long forgotten to them both.

They spent most of their nights working in the bar, which they named _Lily's, _and fell into a routine that was both new and old. Gone were the days of escorting vampires through dark basements. Their clientele was mostly human, though they weren't unaccustomed to a stray witch or vampire. Elena liked it that way; it kept her out of trouble, she found.

"I'm cutting him off after this."

She slammed down a shot glass, turning over a bottle of cheap tequila and spilling a few drops over the gleaming mahogany of the bar. She frowned, sliding the glass over to the tall waitress who waited patiently with a tray full of drinks. It was a busy night and she hadn't fed since the previous morning. Each passing second made it more difficult for her to forget her thirst.

A waitress, Bree, came speeding behind Elena with her arms weighed down by a black bucket full above the brim with dirty dishes. She heaved it into the sink before turning to the computer behind her, ringing in three separate table's orders. "Where's Damon?" she huffed. "I'm getting murdered out there."

Elena winced at the thought of murder. "I needed him to run an errand for me. He should be back any minute." She grabbed a stack of glasses from below the bar to start making Bree's drinks, sucking in the staunch smell of liquor to distract herself.

Damon rushed in just as she was getting desperate, handing her a foam cup and planting a rushed kiss on her cheek before hurrying off to clean the tables by the stage. He moved so quickly it was almost suspicious. Elena might have laughed if the warm scent of iron wasn't wafting up to her nose from the straw of her cup. She had to turn her face away when she took a drink, for the hunger was clear on her face. She breathed a sigh of relief, and before she was fully satisfied, the cup was empty.

"Sorry it took so long," Damon muttered, tossing a handful of empty bottles in a nearby trashcan. "My connection was all the way across town."

"I'm just happy you got here."

He nodded. "It looked like I was just in time."

"You're not wrong." Elena's cheeks had gone red in frustration; even now self-control was hard-earned. The glass in her hand cracked in her grasp and she dropped it into the sink with a frustrated growl. Just as she was delicately picking up the pieces, a pair of arms wrapped around her waste.

"Leave it," Damon whispered.

He was pulling her by the belt loop of her pants, and she kept her head down as he shouted at Bree to keep an eye on the bar. She shot a doubtful eye at the tables needing cleaned off and the crowd of people waiting for drinks at the bar. "Just _one_ minute," he called. "I promise."

He pulled Elena into the stairwell leading up to their apartment. It smelled like fresh linen and the pages of an old book, which was enough to make her feel a little better. She sat on the second step with her head in her hands. Damon lowered himself next to her and placed a hand on her back, drawing slow circles.

"We're too busy to be doing this right now," Elena sighed.

"I know."

She leaned his head back against his shoulder, a hundred words building up in her throat. The first being "sorry."

Seeming to know that's what she wanted to say, Damon clicked his tongue. "It happens to all of us. You don't have to feel guilty every time you get hungry."

"Until I kill someone and ruin everything."

"We've survived worse."

"Don't remind me."

He rolled his eyes. "I won't remind you as long as you don't forget: I've always got you."

And then it was her turn to roll her eyes. "You _got_ me?"

He laughed. "For as long as you want me."

They returned to the bar a little more than a minute later, but Bree had managed just fine on her own. Damon cleaned the last few dirty tables and Elena took over the bar. By the end of the night, they were able to send Bree home early for her hard work.

By then, the bar was empty apart from a stray busboy, still wrapping himself in a thick winter jacket and scarf behind the bar. Damon had planted himself in corner by the old jukebox, playing a succession of old Led Zeppelin songs. He had his head leaned up against the wall and feet up on a second chair. His eyes were closed enough to make him appear asleep, but through his thick lashes he watched Elena.

She stood at the bar, tallying the night's profits with something that looked like a grimace and a smirk on her face. Her fingers moved uncertainly over the surface of her tablet, pressing each button cautiously to avoid mistakes. She was always complaining about touch screens; their body temperature was never hot enough to make them work quite right, but she insisted on using them anyway. "To blend," she would say.

She muttered quietly to herself, pressing hard on the screen which illuminated her face with a strange golden color. The vein in her forehead stuck out from concentration. The busboy passed her as he left and she gave him a big smile before he disappeared out the door. It lingered on her lips once he was gone, and he thought to himself how he loved that; her smiles lived forever, or for a long time, at least. Even small ones, they kept her face warm long after they were born unto her lips. It was years before she was able to do that, to feel happiness for such an extended period of time without being interrupted by guilt or unhappiness.

"You look beautiful," he muttered.

She turned to him, tucking a hair behind her ear. "Quit pretending to sleep and help me close up," she said, seeming to tap the same button four times before the tablet followed through. He dropped his feet to the floor and begrudgingly threw the remaining chairs on top of the tables. He was behind her within seconds.

There was a moment where she ignored him as he wrapped his arms around her waist and left little kisses up and down her neck. Her fingers still tapped away and she was still quietly adding numbers under her breath. "Forty-four," he said in-between a kiss, hoping to distract her. "Twelve, seventy-seven, carry the two."

She saved her spreadsheet with a huff, shoving the tablet away from her and turning to face him, feigning annoyance. "I'm too smart for that, you know."

His hands ran up her sides and softly around her neck. "Mm, right. How could I forget?"

They collided before anything else could be said. She leaned into him and they fell into the wall of gleaming bottles behind them. There was a crash and Elena felt something wet cover the bottom her pants. The thick smell of tequila was so quick and pungent that her eyes began to water. Glass crunched under their feet and she pulled away to look down. "Don Julio," she grimaced. "That's a two hundred dollar bottle of tequila you destroyed."

"Me? That was all you!"

She laughed. "That's your fault; I can't help that you make me like this."

One hand in hers, the other around her waist, he pulled her toward the door to their apartment. "We should probably grab a mop." He kissed behind her ear, the smell of her perfume making him dizzy.

"And a broom," she agreed lazily.

He fumbled for the light switch, still tangled up in her. The door slammed shut behind them, all messes forgotten, and they stumbled giddily up the staircase, though it was hours before they made it the whole way up.

Sunlight peaked from behind the tall gray curtains of their bedroom, stretching gently across the exposed flesh of Damon's back. Elena dragged her fingers lightly over the terrain of muscles beneath his flesh, careful not to wake him. He was warm and rocking lightly with each breath. She smiled to herself, as she did every morning and carefully moved her body closer, pressing her bare chest to his back and burying her face in his shoulders and hair. He smelt like whiskey and cologne, just as he did every time he worked in the bar. He sighed softly, reaching behind himself to grab her arm and pulling it back around his torso. Her hand settled around his chest and she squeezed lightly. They fell back asleep like that, legs tangled, breathing deep.

Happy.

* * *

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Considering I took two years to write this thing, it was only appropriate that I post the concluding chapter sixteen days AFTER the deadline. My bad, guys. It is, however, on the eve of my last first day of college, and I am happy to finally put this story to bed. It may never be perfect... after a million revisions, I've finally come to accept that, but I hope whoever is reading this enjoyed it. Thank you to everyone who read, and a bigger thank you to those who felt it deserved a review or a favorite. That means a lot._

_I don't think this is the last you will hear from me, but it might be a while. For next time, I'd like to plan a little better and be a little more consistent._

_Thanks again, and goodbye for now. xx_


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